Corrupting Influence Version 2
by author-self-insert
Summary: Alternative chapters of Corrupting Influence
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: Reference to suicidal thoughts and physical child abuse in this chapter.**

 **Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Plot belongs to me.**

" _Those who looked on the Gorgon's head must have had the sort of experience I've just undergone after spotting a really beautiful woman." –_ Lucian _Images,_ trans. by Keith Sidwell

Chapter 6

Edward was imagining again the spiral pattern that the chair would make if he threw it against the windows, the ripples of broken glass surging outward in slow motion, bubbling and billowing.

A fall from that height probably wouldn't kill Edward. He would have to go to the roof for that. Ten stories.

' _I'll push you_ ,' a voice in his head volunteered.

Edward cocked his head to the side in surprise at the words. The voice had a soothing cadence, like bells.

He sat up straighter. He recognized the voice.

It belonged to Isabella fucking Swan.

It only made sense that he would be imagining her voice making an offer like that. Once upon a time, she would have been more than willing to push him off a roof.

But now?

Edward considered the remaining gulf between the two of them. Despite all of his mockery, he could see that she had her whole life ahead of her. Her students liked her. She would be graduating soon.

While an outsider might say that Edward had accomplished far more than her—he was more or less established in a career, well into his residency—he was on thin ice at the hospital. He knew that.

And what friends did he really have? (He didn't mean Tanya and her crowd. _Real_ friends.)

He barely spoke to his family.

He'd only gone to that last happy hour because Emmett had said Bella was going to be there.

Edward had a good reason to be reluctant: Enduring another round of his family's questions and comments wasn't exactly appealing.

Which made it all the more strange that he'd changed his mind. At the time, Edward told himself that, with Bella there, the ordeal of seeing his relatives would be slightly more tolerable, if only because at least some of the attention would be on her. But there was more to it. To be honest, he enjoyed getting a rise out of her. His family had long since given up trying to match wits with him and would just ignore his quips.

And Bella hadn't disappointed either. She had matched him barb for barb, countering all of his jabs.

" _What would it take to turn you on?"_ he'd asked.

She'd tried to avoid the question. But then she'd admitted that it was an intellectual challenge she really wanted.

Edward had been all-too-eager to see where this line of discussion would take them. Yet Bella had turned the tables on him, saying that he was the one with the real problem. " _You. Habituation. You've gotten bored with sex. So you keep pushing the limits with places like Breaking Dawn. But you can't keep upping the ante. It's just not feasible._ "

She'd figured him out alright, not that Edward was about to admit that. He had kept up the show, like it was just a friendly debate, when it was anything but.

Then, like an idiot, he had dared Bella to write down her intentions for him.

Writing his own intentions out on a napkin, it had been tempting to lie—to write something else down—but a wild kind of impetuous feeling had come over him. So what if Bella learned the truth?

Watching her drop her own napkin into the envelope, it had been all he could do not to snatch it away from her so that he could read what she'd written.

 _Get it together_ , he'd told himself.

But then she had just walked out. Just like that.

Watching her leave—as if she thought that he was a waste of time—Edward had started to crumple the envelope, but he'd stopped himself. He'd realized that he could just open it and have all of his questions answered.

Or could he? Had she told the truth?

He had yet to make a decision when Rosalie and Emmett returned from their game of darts. He had handed over the envelope with a cryptic request that Rosalie hold onto it for a while, then made his own departure.

And now here he was, staring out a window, and imagining Bella's voice.

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" _Gracias. Dios mio, gracias._ "

Edward tried to extricate himself from the sobbing woman.

" _Mi niño_."

Edward wasn't a complete monster. Intellectually, he understood the woman's fears.

But she would have to steel herself for the inevitable. There was no point in prevaricating.

He wondered what Bella would think of that, and handed the weeping _madre_ off to one of the nurses.

Realizing that he'd let Bella intrude upon his thoughts once again, Edward grimaced in annoyance.

Then he wondered if she would be at Newton's that night.

 _Was he actually looking forward to seeing her again?_ That couldn't possibly be true.

He tried to reason that his interest was purely scientific. Bella was like a fantastic bird long since thought extinct—going around as if she was so much better than everyone else. It was only fair that she be brought down to earth with the other mortals.

A lingering moral sense—more a learned knowledge of textbook right and wrong as opposed to any innate belief—told Edward that he was wrong for thinking it, but part of him wanted Bella just as she was, prized, like the nearly extinct creature she was, unobtainable, for everyone else at least, but not...

He didn't want to finish the thought.

It would be a challenge.

Something inside of him wanted it, and it had been a while since he had really wanted anything.

Edward left the hospital soon after finishing with the grateful _madre._ It was late. The streetlights were on, but the sidewalks were surprisingly crowded. It was only by chance that he happened to glimpse Bella.

She was walking in the opposite direction, down the other side of the street, a backpack slung behind her and books in her arms. Edward hesitated for only a few seconds, then continued down the sidewalk, his eyes resolutely on the ground, daring to glance back at her only after they'd passed each other.

But she was already out of sight.

Strangely irritated, Edward found himself wandering back in her direction.

He got to the corner and saw Bella passing under a streetlight a few blocks down. He wasn't sure how she'd managed to cover so much ground in such a short amount of time, but he sprinted to catch up, weaving his way through the traffic to cross the street and dodging a few pedestrians.

He stopped again when the street opened up onto a large thoroughfare. Swinging his head from side-to-side, Edward spied her on the next street over, waiting at a light. He took off again.

No longer caring about avoiding detection, Edward yelled Bella's name. But she kept walking, as if she couldn't hear him.

He wondered if she was ignoring him on purpose.

A pack of young females clearly out for a night on the town suddenly appeared in front of Edward, taking up the entire sidewalk with arms slung around each other. Edward maneuvered around them, shouting Bella's name again.

She'd already made it to the end of the next block by the time that Edward caught up with her.

He reached for her shoulder, but they were suddenly engulfed by a crowd of rowdy theater-goers.

Jostled by the mob, Bella stumbled. Edward steadied her, and pulled towards her to the side, backing the two of them into an alley.

Looking down at Bella, Edward started to laugh. "Where were you—"

He stopped.

Bella was gazing back at him, her eyes locked on his. It was unnerving.

Edward had noticed before how Bella tended to avoid his eyes. Unless she was angry, that is. She clearly had no qualms about staring him down whenever he said something to annoy her.

Her eyes now were strangely dark. And large.

He was going to ask if she was alright, but he couldn't get the words out.

And the expression on her face—

Edward's heart was hammering and it had nothing to do with the way he'd run to catch up with her.

He realized that he was still holding her by the elbows. Without even being consciously aware of just what he was doing, he found himself sliding his hands up her arms to her shoulders.

 _So soft._

God, her arms were so soft. Like down.

He slid a hand behind her neck, and took her chin in his other hand.

Shaking, he lowered his mouth, hesitating an inch away from her lips. She smelled like sunshine. He breathed in her scent, staring into her eyes.

Unable to take it anymore, he closed his eyes and turned her head to the side. He pressed his lips to the side of her mouth.

Edward shuddered against Bella's cool skin as a noise like a coo escaped her mouth. He slid his hands back down her arms, and froze.

Confused, he pulled back, looking at her arms.

Feathers. Her arms were covered in tiny feathers.

Edward felt lips moving against the skin of his neck. Then he felt a nip on his chin. Bella was trying to kiss him.

He tried to push her away.

She nipped him again; it hurt.

He pushed her away more forcibly, and this time she retreated. She retreated too quickly.

Edward could feel her slipping through his hands, and he reached out for her again.

Ghostly soft down tickled his fingertips as she slipped away.

He made a wild grab but she evaded him, ducking into the shadows of the alley.

Then, even as he watched she began to shift. To change.

Edward woke from this dream uncomfortably aroused.

He was fully aware that he was completely and utterly pitiful.

No, not _pitiful_. Not something deserving of pity. Because he deserved everything he got.

He certainly didn't think that a dream like this boded well for his progress in overcoming his…condition.

Gnashing his teeth in frustration, Edward heaved himself out of bed, resigned to blaming Bella.

Not that he wanted to fuck her.

No, that couldn't be it.

Edward just wanted to understand her. _To name her species_. That wasn't so strange was it?

And yeah, maybe he wanted to bring her down a peg or two.

It would be a public service. Everyone would be much better off without Bella going around looking down her nose at them.

In fact, Bella herself would probably be grateful. She'd be happy just to fit in.

 _Right._

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Edward looked for Bella every day. He scanned the sidewalks, looking for her as he went to and from work.

On one occasion, he had been so distracted while driving that he had narrowly avoided a kid who'd jumped right in front of his car running after a ball.

Because that's just what Edward's karma needed. A dead kid.

By the time Edward got to Newton's for the weekly happy hour, his beloved siblings were already there, as was Rosalie. But Bella had yet to show.

Alice updated Edward about her shop.

"You should come see it," she said. "I might even put you to work."

"I'd be about as useful in a clothes boutique as you would be in an OR," Edward replied.

It wasn't so much the words as his tone.

He wasn't actively trying to be cruel. He actually liked Alice—he probably liked her more than any of his other relatives. But that probably wasn't saying very much.

An awkward silence followed Edward's comment.

Annoyed, Rosalie decided that he deserved a little of his own medicine. "What's up with that envelope you gave me last week?" she asked.

"Just a bet Swan and I have going," Edward told her.

"Does the winner get a lap dance?" Rosalie laughed.

Edward grunted. He and Bella had never really specified the terms of their bet.

"Did you two fight last time?" Emmett asked.

"Who?" Edward quirked an eyebrow, feigning ignorance even though he knew damn well what Emmett was talking about.

"You and Bella. She ran away before we could come back to the table. Were you a jerk again?"

Assuming a haughty tone, Edward replied, "On the contrary, our conversation was quite friendly."

Emmett snorted, while Alice and Rosalie merely shook their heads.

Edward assumed an even haughtier tone. "I _am_ capable of carrying on polite conversation."

Emmett raised his glass in a salute. "And _I_ am capable of making this my last drink of the night." He drank it down in one long swallow, then grinned. "But it would go against my nature."

Edward glanced at the door.

"So, why does she still hate you so much?" Emmett asked. "I never understood why the two of you would go at each other."

Emmett was four years younger than Edward and three years younger than Bella. And while Emmett knew that something had happened between Edward and Bella, neither he nor Alice knew just what it was.

Edward shrugged. "It's not that interesting."

"You sleep with her boyfriend?" Rosalie asked.

Edward glared at her.

"It's a fair question," she defended herself. "I hear that you've pissed off a lot of people by sleeping with their significant others."

He shook his head. "Unless she's a lesbian, I don't think that's the problem."

"Maybe she doesn't like doctors," Rosalie continued speculating.

"Why wouldn't she like doctors?"

"You stick people with needles for fun," Alice pointed out.

"I fucking save lives, is what I do." _This_ was why he avoided seeing his family. They piled on.

"You've saved lives?" Emmett asked. "Who?"

"Who what?" Edward was in no mood for Emmett's games.

" _Who_ have you saved?"

"Orphans and babies, who the hell do you think? _People_. I save people. Just yesterday, a woman came in with a knife wound to the chest because her husband had tried to kill her. She would have died without me." Edward glanced back at the door, looking for Bella.

"What was her name?"

Edward craned his neck, trying to see around a gaggle of interns who'd just walked in, still in their scrubs. "What?"

"Her. Name." Emmett spoke slowly if to a child. "What. Was. It?"

Edward noticed a brunette— _Bella?_

No, she was too short.

Edward turned back to Emmett. "I haven't the slightest idea what her name was. My job's to save them, not set up their Facebook profiles."

"You don't even remember her name?" Alice sounded a little shocked.

"It's better if we don't think of the patients as people. Subjectivity can complicate treatment."

Rosalie huffed. "So what you're saying is, you don't treat the patients like humans because it would make it harder for you to do your job."

"Exactly." Edward started tapping his foot. If Bella didn't show up _right now_ —

Emmett tilted his glass in Edward's direction. "Except that they _are_ humans and your job is to make their lives better as _humans_."

Edward glared at his brother. "I'd like to see you do my job and keep up your jovial façade. It's not as easy as it looks."

"Never said it looked easy. And just to be clear, you couldn't do my job either. But I'm better at mine than you are at yours."

That got Edward's attention. "How do you figure?"

"I have a job and a girlfriend and a life and a family and somehow I manage to continue functioning. What have you got?"

Edward heard Alice gasp at Emmett's words, but he also noticed that she wasn't jumping in to call Emmett out for his crap.

"I've got a job that has me working eighty hours a week," Edward pointed out.

Emmett snorted again. "You should see me during playoffs. And dude, there's always a playoff. I even cover curling."

Edward blinked. "Curling?"

"Hey," Emmett admonished, "don't knock it until you've tried it. Better yet, don't mock anything that keeps your dear brother in the black."

Edward glanced at the door again.

"Looking for someone?" Rosalie smirked.

"Bella said that she'd try to come," Alice announced. "But she has a lot of work this week."

Alice said that Bella had promised to try, but that she had a lot of work that week.

Edward stuck around for another hour before he gave up on Bella showing. Explaining that he had an early surgery the next morning, Edward left the bar.

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Edward was running. When he first went to live in Forks with his father, Carlisle, and his father's new wife, Esme, he'd been given all of the encouragement he needed to go out for sports.

To be honest, Carlisle and Esme just wanted Edward to get a chance to play, like the kid he was.

But Edward wasn't exactly a playful teenager. He would sometimes horse around with Emmett, who was only ten when Edward moved in, but that was mostly to keep Emmett happy.

Edward had never really played sports before moving to Forks. There'd be a game of pick-up basketball now and then, but he and his friends always had to be careful to avoid the dealers, who'd get riled up over how the game was going or would want the court for themselves. Edward had taken PE in school, of course, but there were only so many times you could make a kid run around an inner city school gymnasium.

Forks was different. There were wide open spaces with just miles and miles of—of _space_. Edward could run and run and run until he passed out.

A week after Edward's arrival in Forks, he went running. Really, it was just to get away from his family. The Cullens weren't so bad. They were nothing like his mother, Victoria. But sometimes _that_ was the problem. The Cullens were just so fucking _good_ to him. And sometimes he couldn't take it.

So he told them that he was going running.

Edward disappeared for two hours and by the time that he got back, Carlisle was on the phone with the park service, demanding that they send out a search party for his son.

After that, Edward had to promise to bring his phone with him whenever he went running. The cell service didn't actually work all that well out in the woods, but everyone ignored that little tidbit. And anytime Edward felt overwhelmed, he'd go running. Carlisle and Esme could see that it was good for him—it helped with his obvious anxiety—but they were also worried that Edward was spending too much time alone.

So they encouraged him to try out for a sports team. He didn't do well with contact sports. The fear that another player might come at him was almost enough to cause Edward to have a full-blown panic attack, but that also encouraged him to run all the faster. So he played baseball. Track and field was a no-brainer. The team practiced together and Edward had to work on hand-offs for the relay, but Edward still ran by himself as often as he could.

When he went away to college, Edward continued running. He ran all the way through med school and through his internship, even when he was utterly exhausted. When everyone else was taking uppers, Edward declined—he didn't want to be anything like his mother—and went running instead. He'd run with headphones, listening to lectures that he'd recorded or listening to his own voice reading aloud from his notes, the words working into his subconscious as he forced himself to go just another mile, his lips silently mouthing the phrases.

Now that he was a resident, Edward continued running. When he was still high with adrenaline from a surgery, instead of taking a downer, he'd run.

There was something soothing about it. Muscle memory taking over when everything else in him was long past the point of giving up. The rhythmic sound of his breathing and the tattoo of his feet against the pavement. It was meditative.

Edward was always careful to avoid drugs and alcohol. They were his mother's weaknesses.

But avoiding the obvious pitfalls just made it that much more difficult for Edward to realize that he had followed in his mother's footsteps after all. It was a while before he recognized his addiction.

He was addicted to running, of course. Unfortunately, that wasn't the only thing that he was addicted to.

And since running was by far the least harmful of the two addictions, he figured that he'd keep running until he'd handled his other issue.

As a result, he was running more and more these days.

Some weeks, Edward would run for up to two hours a day.

He'd run and he'd think.

And what he was thinking about these days was Bella.

He was annoyed.

He was annoyed that he was thinking about her at all.

A part of him had even decided that it was, in fact, all of her fault. That he never would have developed his addiction to sex in the first place if not for Bella.

Because the first time he ordered Lauren Mallory to get on her knees, it was to spite Bella. He was the one with his dick in Lauren's mouth, and he was the one who told her to put it there, but it wouldn't have happened—not like that, not then—if not for Bella.

That was bullshit, of course. If anyone was to blame for Edward's condition, it was Edward. And if not him, then it was his bitch of a mother, Victoria.

But hating his mother just fueled his addiction. He'd read enough psycho-babble to know that.

And yes, he still though it was just psycho-babble. Edward had been forced into therapy when he was a teenager and had not been impressed.

He had recently considered giving it another go, but he didn't think it would work. A patient was vulnerable to his therapist, and Edward couldn't make himself that vulnerable to anyone, no matter the reason. His career depended on his ability to remain in control. In charge.

Nevertheless, Edward was smart enough to look into the literature surrounding his condition. And everything said that he had to forgive his mother.

Yeah, fuck that.

Every time he thought of her, it was just tunnel-vision, a rage that he couldn't get rid of without running and running and running.

And as for his other addiction?

Well, the psycho-babble all said that it was just an attempt to compensate for a feeling of inadequacy.

Like he didn't already know that.

He was fourteen when the police finally took him away from his mother. _Fourteen_.

By then, he'd already bought into all of the crap she was feeding him.

And yeah, there times when it felt like he was just fulfilling destiny, when he acted like the fuck up she had always told him he was.

He hated the fact that he was making her right—that fucking bitch—because it was like confirming that he had deserved every single fucking thing that she'd ever done to him.

And that hatred had only added more fuel to his desire to act on his worst impulses.

Because what was the fucking point of trying to resist?

It was a circle.

Meanwhile, his condition had gotten out of control.

He'd been caught having sex at work. He'd nearly lost his job.

He'd even introduced Tanya to his parents.

Fucking _Tanya_.

He had taken her to Forks for the weekend, not caring anymore what his parents thought of him.

No, that wasn't true. Edward cared what Esme and Carlisle thought of him. That was the problem. He wanted to destroy the picture they had in their head of him. He wanted them to know just how fucked up he really was. Because they kept giving Edward chance after chance. Even when he slept with Emmett's girlfriend.

And Edward had just gotten in trouble at work. It was only a matter of time before he lost his job.

Edward wanted nothing more than for his family to cut him off once and for all.

But that trip to meet his parents was a disaster from beginning to end.

That first day, Esme brought out the goddamn family albums and home movies, like she thought that she could resurrect the old Edward from a couple of pieces of celluloid.

Then Carlisle told Edward the news.

It turned out that Carlisle had been keeping tabs on Victoria through the years. Not that Carlisle owed that bitch anything. Carlisle's name wasn't even on Edward's original birth certificate, but Edward knew his name thanks to Victoria's drunken stories about the guy who'd knocked her up, _Carlisle fucking Cullen_. Thus, Edward was able to give Carlisle's name to Child Protective Services, not that Edward expected his father to step in and do any good. According to Victoria, Carlisle Cullen was a useless fuck who'd been on the fast track to nowhere. Fortunately for Edward, the social worker assigned to his case tracked Victoria Masen all of the way back to Forks, Victoria's hometown, and discovered that a Carlisle Cullen was indeed in residence. The community had started a fund and paid for Carlisle's education with the agreement that he'd come back after he got his medical license and open up a practice. The other Masens, Victoria's family, had long since scattered, but Carlisle had a wife, and two children from his wife's previous marriage, Alice and Emmett. Carlisle had no idea that Edward even existed, but there could be no doubting the physical resemblance, and a DNA test confirmed their relationship.

It wasn't difficult for Carlisle to secure full custody of Edward.

That was just another spit in Edward's face, the way that Victoria didn't even _try_ to keep him. She could have gotten counselling. She could have done something. But no.

So why the fuck was Carlisle suddenly expecting Edward to give a shit about her?

Carlisle sympathized with Edward's position, but he always assumed that Edward would want to see his mother again one day, to try and get closure if nothing else.

Thus, Carlisle was very disappointed to learn that she had died from an overdose.

As it turned out, however, Edward didn't give a fuck.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked Carlisle. The Cullens were Edward's real family, weren't they? _So why the fuck was Carlisle telling him this?_

Carlisle tried to explain, and after a while, Edward seemed to calm down. In fact, he appeared to be perfectly at peace as he bid his parents farewell, and returned to Seattle with Tanya.

It was the kind of calm that comes over a person when he decides to throw it all away.

He was right there, on the precipice.

With a woman he'd met at Breaking Dawn.

They'd gone to a hotel a block away from the bar. It wasn't the first time he'd brought a woman there. Many of the bar's patrons regularly got rooms for an hour or two if not the whole night.

He had blindfolded the woman, because she said that she wanted him to. And he was standing over the bed watching her writhe in anticipation, his hands shaking with the awful desire washing over him.

And he was smoking. He never smoked. But his mother had smoked like a chimney.

He could feel this thing inside of him, this thing wanting to come out.

And it was like the smoke was part of this thing, this fucking monster uncurling inside of him and licking through his veins, the _need_ , the awful tearing _need_ , to—

And he stopped.

Because what the fuck was he doing?

What the fuck was he _doing_?

What the actual _fuck_ was he _really_ doing?

Because he knew that it wouldn't be enough.

The satisfaction wouldn't fill whatever was missing inside of him.

And he didn't want to be like his mother.

Like his fucking mother, that goddamn bitch.

Edward untied the woman and left.

He hadn't had sex since. The last time that he'd had sex, it was that weekend with Tanya at his parents. And Edward had been turning down all of Tanya's invitations since. He had been ignoring all of the solicitations of the so-called friends he'd met through Tanya or through Breaking Dawn.

Because sex, sometimes, is an addiction.

Of course, Edward knew that sex was healthy. That it _should_ be healthy. Even rough sex. Even kinky sex.

Edward knew this, intellectually at least, and he'd been trying to convince Bella of this as much as himself with all of that talk about the value of sex.

And even though part of Edward was still angry at Bella for that stunt involving Lauren Mallory all of those years ago, Edward knew that his addiction wasn't Bella's fault.

Unfortunately, he wasn't so sure that about his own part in what looked like an aversion to sex on Bella's part. It wouldn't be his fault, not directly, but he was there that night in Port Angeles. And he'd certainly made a mistake with regard to Bella's mother.

So yeah, Edward was running and thinking about Bella. He was still struggling with his addiction—and he was mad at himself for caving the other night and walking into Breaking Dawn. Then there was his anxiety about the situation he'd gotten himself into at work, to say nothing of the mistakes he'd made with his family.

And on top of it all, here was Bella.

Exhausted, but forcing himself to run just one more mile, Edward returned to his apartment drained.

And in his relaxed state, Edward was able to admit that seeing Bella again wasn't all bad.

At least she knew him. There would always be a part of him that was Masen, not Cullen. His so-called relatives might think that they loved him, but it was for precisely that reason that they would never really understand him. Bella was different.

Edward knew it the first time they met. The first time he looked into her eyes. She was broken. Just like him. And he hated her for it.

Newly showered and dressed, Edward was still tired from his run, but he didn't have to work and he didn't want to sit at home.

A few months ago, a day with nothing to do would have brought him to Breaking Dawn, looking for a woman—or two—to pick up. Today, he decided to head downtown.

Edward had never been particularly fond of window shopping, but it had been a long time since he had let himself just wander around, taking in the sights, with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

When Edward saw the woman standing on the other side of the street, the scene was so reminiscent of his dream that at first he thought that he was asleep again.

He was awake, though. And there was Bella, alive and in the flesh.

Walking into his favorite sex shop.

 **AN:**

 **No, Edward is not "hearing voices." It's just his imagination.**

 **If Edward's freaking you out: Reminder, he does engage in consensual rough sex, but that's it. This is the one and only chapter that has Edward teetering on the edge like this. He's recognized that he's at a precipice and I think that's an issue worth looking at, if only because we all of us, victims of abuse or not, have the potential to wreak very real damage on others, physical or not. I've certainly been stuck in the moment, when I've considered the next words that could come out of my mouth, when I've wondered if I really want to hurt a person as much as I could with what I'm thinking of saying. I've teetered at the edge. My Edward has done his own teetering, in a way that's much more physical, but this story's a metaphor, isn't it? Having stood on the precipice and stepped back, does that mean that I never open my mouth again? Does that mean that Edward never has sex again? Or that he only has vanilla sex for now on? Where's the line?**

 **I think it's important to explore these questions, because ignoring them means ignoring the degree to which we're responsible for our actions. We might be inclined in certain directions (by previous experiences), but we choose to follow our inclinations or to head in another direction. By ignoring the fact that some people see the temptation and refuse to follow it, I'm afraid we enable abusers to excuse their own behavior by saying it's natural/inevitable/they can't help themselves.**

 **Again, Edward's never going to be physically abusive. But neither he nor Bella are perfect. They have and will do things that can be interpreted as mentally abusive. This story is about them learning how to break the cycle.**

 **This isn't a story about feeling sorry for abusive people. It's a story about how people who are inclined towards unhealthy behavior learn to take responsibility for their lives and change.**

 **If you're in a physically or mentally abusive relationship, get out. It doesn't matter if the person abusing you is your lover or your friend or a relative. I've been in mentally abusive relationships. The person who's abusing you will try to make it your fault. It's not. They're choosing to do this to you. You don't deserve it. Don't feel sorry for them. Speaking from personal experience, I know that you can become addicted to being with a person who's abusive. And this story is about addicts breaking free.**

 **I think that this is the last long AN in this story.**

 **Diamond in the rough Rec:** _ **Blind Date from Hell?**_ **by bebe86** Bella is unlucky in love and has been set up on one bad blind date after another by Alice and Rose. She finally agrees to one last blind date with Edward Cullen, but is this going to be the worst blind date yet? Rated M for language and lemons. AH, B/E - Twilight - Rated: M - English - Romance/Humor - Chapters: 34 - Words: 104,173 - Reviews: 756 - Favs: 805 - Follows: 473 - Updated: Feb 20, 2010 - Published: Aug 28, 2009 - Bella, Edward - Complete


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: Reference to physical and verbal child abuse in this chapter but no explicit details.**

 **Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Aside from a few obvious parallels to the** _ **Twilight**_ **universe, this plot belongs to me.**

" _The injuries we do and those we suffer are seldom weighed in the same scales_." – Aesop, translator unknown

Chapter 18

"Alice, people normally have housewarming parties right after they've moved in," Bella pointed out as she set out the chips and dip.

"But I wanted my place to be perfect before I let anyone see it," Alice replied, rearranging the dishes on the table to make room for the drinks.

"People are supposed to give you stuff to make it perfect. That's the whole point of a housewarming party."

"Yes, but this way they can give me whatever they want to. It doesn't have to be for the apartment."

Bella eyed her friend. "Then it's just an _Alice_ party. Not a _housewarming_ party."

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Shrugging, Bella started setting out the wine, ignoring the fact that Alice rearranged everything she set out on the table at least once.

Bella had just set down the last of the napkins and silverware (Alice switching the two) when the first of the guests arrived.

Bella smiled tentatively at the newcomers, two members of Alice's staff from the boutique, but as a debate over chiffon ensued, Bella retreated to the background. As more and more guests arrived, Bella did her best to seem amicable, but couldn't resist the temptation to invent chores in the kitchen. It wasn't that Bella was averse to socialization, she just felt like the contribution of set-up and clean-up ought to absolve her of chipping in and breaking the ice when things got awkward.

Fortunately, Edward arrived soon enough. And only a fool would imagine that the way he and Bella greeted each other went unobserved by certain interested parties. Eyebrows went up, sidelong glances were had, but Edward's siblings (and Rosalie) held their tongues, not wanting to interfere in the strange experiment unfolding before their eyes.

But as the party proceeded, Emmett found that he could hold his peace no longer.

"Hey, Statler and Waldorf," Emmett chided them from the sofa, "wanna join the rest of us?"

Bella and Edward were indeed putting on a fair imitation of two stodgy old men who hung out in the balcony of _The Muppet Show_ , discreetly trading snide comments about the goings on as they observed the party from a corner, passing judgment on the other partiers as only two people bitter over their failure to fit in can really do well.

Bella tried to think of a clever comeback to Emmett's remark, but she'd already used up her quota of snarkiness quietly mocking an ascot-wearing, oblivious young man whose overtures were being blatantly rebuffed by an honest-to-God dead-ringer for Carly Simon.

"Hey Rosalie," Edward replied, "did Emmett ever tell you about the time he went skinny-dipping at La Push?"

"Seriously?" Emmett asked. "You're going to go there?"

Rosalie patted Emmett's shoulder. "Don't worry. I'm still holding onto a certain envelope for Statler and Waldorf. They start any trouble, I'll just bring it out."

Bella had forgotten about the envelope, and the confessions it contained as to she and Edward's intentions. She'd been having such a good time with Edward—the two of them taking comfort in their mutual discomfort in the party atmosphere—and now she felt a slight pang of anxiety. She wished that she'd been a little less truthful in that "confession."

"Am I ever going to get to find out what you put in there?" Rosalie asked.

Edward glanced at Bella with a smile. "Oh, I think the envelope's due to be opened soon. I can just feel it. I'm close to winning."

Chuckling uneasily, Bella edged towards the kitchen. "I'm going to see about getting some more salsa for the table."

In the kitchen, Bella was surprised to find Carlisle and Esme inspecting the wine bottles still on reserve.

"Bella!" Esme cried. "What a delight to see you!" She threw her arms around Bella for a quick hug.

"It's nice to see you, too," Bella replied cautiously, easing out of the hug. "And Carlisle." Bella had seen the two of them arrive at the party, but she had conveniently avoided greeting them. It wasn't that she held anything against them—or did she?—but it had been ten years since they'd seen each other, and Bella wasn't sure how she felt about seeing them again.

"Bella." Carlisle smiled at her. "How've you been doing? Alice said that you're getting your doctorate."

"Yeah." Bella ran a hand through her hair, nervously. "In history. I'm almost done."

"That's wonderful. I'm so proud of you," Esme said.

And Bella couldn't help feeling a stab of annoyance. It wasn't really Esme's place to take pride in anything that Bella, was it?

Of course, there was a period in Bella's life when she'd desperately wanted Esme's approval. Esme's opinion used to matter so much to Bella.

But now?

"I'm so happy that you and Alice found each other again," Esme continued. "She was so upset when you fell out of touch."

Bella smiled congenially, but she wanted to call _bullshit_. Oh, she knew that Alice "felt bad" about turning her back on Bella all of those years ago. But it wasn't easy for Bella to sympathize with the teenage version of her old friend.

Not that Esme and Carlisle knew anything about that. Bella had the foresight to realize that Alice's parents probably had no idea what had really happened.

It wasn't like Alice would have come home from school and boasted about scribbling "slut" across Bella's locker.

Then again—

Bella couldn't help wondering if Carlisle and Esme were entirely ignorant of what had happened.

It wasn't as if they would have wanted their daughter associated with the town "slut." Maybe they even told Alice to cut her off.

"What about your father, dear? How is he doing?" Esme asked.

And another shot of annoyance coursed through Bella's veins. "He's fine," Bella said, trying to keep her voice light. It was none of the Cullens' business how her father was doing, but she didn't want to cause a scene.

"How is his mobility?" Carlisle asked.

Bella thought about lying, but what was the point? "He's actually not getting around very well right now." _More like confined to a bed and only semi-lucid_. Bella hadn't been back to see him for a few weeks—trying to cram in as possible many hours in at her various jobs and struggling to finish yet another draft of her proposal—but the last time she'd called, the nurse told her that he had yet to fully recover from his last bout of pneumonia.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," Esme clucked, pulling Bella in for another embrace, a longer one this time.

Bella tried not to given into the instinct to pull away.

She remembered how much she used to crave Esme's hugs. At the same time, she'd always hated how they made her feel so fucking inadequate.

"Are they thinking about doing any more surgeries?" Carlisle wanted to know after Bella disentangled herself from his wife.

"Not right now."

"But they have made some recent advancements, you know. I could—"

"He had a complication during his last surgery," Bella cut Carlisle off. "They're looking into non-invasive therapies now."

 _Who the fuck did Carlisle think he was?_ Riding in on his white horse to save the day after everything the Cullens had abandoned her?

Bella was going to take care of her father all by herself. She had a plan. She didn't need any one's help.

"Well, you let me know if you need anything," Carlisle told her.

She almost scoffed—because _come the fuck on_ —but he just looked so damn sincere.

Suddenly, Bella remembered a Saturday afternoon she'd spent at the Cullens. Alice was busy finishing up a paper, and Esme had invited her into the kitchen to bake cookies. Carlisle had sat at the counter, reading a journal. And while the cookies were baking, the three of them played a card game.

Bella and her parents never spent time together. They never played cards or baked cookies. Bella usually ate by herself. When her father was home, he mostly watched sports. He'd ask her if everything was alright every now and then, but he wasn't exactly talkative. And as for Bella's mother, well, she wasn't exactly a home-body.

Bella suddenly found herself wishing that she was anywhere but Alice's kitchen. She didn't want to stand there trying to make small talk with two people she'd once loved like parents—two people she had secretly wished _were_ her parents—two people who'd turned their backs on her.

That's right, _turned_ their backs on her. Because where were they when she needed them?

Unable to take it anymore, Bella pivoted towards the door, and was brought up short by the sight of Edward, standing in the doorway and glaring at his parents.

She didn't know what had put him in such a bad mood. Maybe he was angry at his parents for something. But she couldn't escape the suspicion that he was annoyed to find her talking to his parents. Like he was offended by their relationship—just like so many years ago, when he would complain that she was over all of the time.

Nodding adieu to Carlisle and Esme, Bella pushed past Edward and made her way to Alice's bedroom. She needed to be alone, just for a few minutes.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

It would have been difficult to pinpoint who fired the first shot. Within the first few days of Edward and Bella's initial meeting as teenagers, it was clear that they despised each other. But it would be hard to determine who or what started it all.

At the time, Bella was just thirteen and Edward was a year older. She had returned to Forks for the summer, as she had every year since her mother had first taken her away.

Edward had only arrived in the town a few weeks earlier, at which point he met his father and stepmother and step-siblings for the very first time; a whole family that he'd just found out about.

The truth was, Edward was lucky not to be going to jail. Or so he thought. His mother had come at him again, screaming such awful things. And he just lost it. He couldn't take it any fucking more. He pushed her.

When her head hit the table, Edward realized that he'd fucked up. He'd pushed her too hard. He could already see the blood.

He was going to go to jail for murdering his own mother.

So he ran.

Unbeknownst to Edward, a neighbor had called the cops, sick and tired of all of the yelling from the apartment next door. The police found Edward's mother unconscious, and the neighbor told them how "the boy"—Edward—had fled the apartment.

When the police picked Edward up for sleeping on a park bench, he was sure that he was going to jail. The police tried to question him, but he refused to talk. He was smart enough to know that that shit wasn't legal—the cops couldn't talk to him without a legal guardian present. And Edward's legal guardian—his mother—was dead because he'd killed her. If Edward was going to go to jail, then he was going to make them work for it.

A social worker was called in then, but Edward still wasn't saying a fucking word. Why should he talk? No one ever gave a fuck what he said, so why should he try now?

With Edward holding his tongue, the social worker filled him in on a few details. She explained how the neighbor had called the police. And that this neighbor had also reported that Edward's mother was screaming some pretty awful threats at Edward before the accident.

The "accident." That was what the social worker called it.

Because Edward's mother wasn't dead. She was alive and kicking and insisting on seeing Edward.

That got Edward's attention, alright.

Because _Jesus fuck_ —

He didn't want to be a murderer. But he had been consoling himself with the belief that he was finally free of her.

And now?

And now they were just going to give him back to her.

 _She would be so fucking fucking fucking pissed._

"The police asked your mother who pushed her," the social worker said, and Edward began to feel a glimmer of hope. Because maybe they were going to prosecute him for assault after all. He'd go to jail, at least juvie. And when he got out, he could run. He would just disappear and he'd never have to see his mother again.

"Do you know what she said?" the social worker asked.

Edward didn't so much as move a muscle.

"She said that you pushed her. Now, why would you push your mother, Edward?"

 _Right_. Like Edward was going to say a word.

"Did she hurt you?"

And suddenly Edward wished that he was anywhere but there. Anywhere but sitting in that room with that social worker. Wasn't it enough that he was going to go to jail? Did she have to humiliate him too?

"Your mother's admitted it."

Edward's eyes snapped to the social worker's.

He wondered if she was lying. He knew that the police were allowed to lie to suspects.

"The police asked your mother why she was threatening you, and she said that you'd eaten the last of the cereal."

 _Fucking bitch!_ It was all Edward could do to hold his temper and go on sitting there, to pretend that he wasn't seething inside.

There was no other food and he hadn't eaten in a day and he was starving. Wasn't it his mother's fucking job to feed him?

"The police asked her if she wanted to press charges, but she refused."

A roar started sounding in Edward's ears. _They were going to give him back to her. They were going to give him back to her. They were going to—_

Edward closed his eyes. Because maybe if he wished hard enough, he could will himself out of existence.

"Edward, if you won't agree to a medical exam, I'm going to have to agree to one on your behalf."

And that roaring in Edward's ears became positively deafening. There was no fucking way he was going to let anyone touch him.

 _But what was the point in trying to stop them?_

Why bother fighting back? They would get what they wanted one way or another.

It wasn't enough that they were going to put him in jail. They wanted to take away his last shred of self-respect.

The social worker gave her consent for the examination. By the time the doctors finished taking photos of all of the scars, Edward was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

He still hadn't said a word.

The social worker tried one last time. "Did your mother do this to you?"

Why deny it? They knew the truth. In his imagination, the doctors were all laughing about him in the break room. _What a loser? His own mother—_

Who the hell did they think they were?

And this bitch social worker—exposing him to the eyes of strangers, all of them poking and prodding at him. Taking fucking pictures, like he was a fucking zoo exhibit.

This was it. The end. Edward's story was over.

He nodded.

But Edward's story wasn't over. Having condescended to answer one of the social worker's questions, Edward figured he might as well give her everything that she wanted. Get it over with as quickly as possible. So when she asked if he had any other family, he gave her his father's name—or at least the name of a man that he _thought_ was his father.

It took some digging, but the social worker tracked the Cullens down. Before Edward had time to process what was happening, he was being sent to live with a family he never knew existed.

None of that mattered though, because he had a loving family now, and everything was fine.

Only not.

Edward arrived in Forks thoroughly fucked up and not quite able to believe the change in his circumstances. Because it had suddenly dawned on him that he'd suffered all of those years for nothing. Why didn't the authorities step in earlier?

Edward had other questions, too. Carlisle, his father, said that he had no idea that Edward existed until the social worker contacted him. Was that true?

And how was Edward—a fucked up punk from the inner city—supposed to fit into this perfect little family in this perfect little town?

How long would it take the Cullens to figure out that he didn't belong and send him away?

Edward took some comfort in the fact that they couldn't make him go back to his mother, at least not any time soon. She had changed her story about Edward's scars; she was now saying that Edward got them from rough-housing with his friends. With Edward refusing to cooperate, the DA had difficulty pressing charges. In the end, his mother got a sentence for negligence.

Edward knew that he should probably feel some sort of vindication seeing his mother go to jail. Strangely, he didn't feel anything at all.

The therapist said that it was natural for Edward to feel confused about everything. Edward wasn't confused. He just didn't care.

The therapy was Carlisle's idea, not Edward's. Edward agreed to go only because he didn't think that he had the option of refusing.

After two months and no progress, the shrink announced that Edward had problems making an emotional connection, whatever the fuck that meant. By the time that summer rolled around, Edward had stopped talking to the shrink altogether. He'd go to his appointments and sit in silence for an hour.

And then Bella came to town.

Edward already knew that Alice was an outsider. His step-sister didn't seem to have any close friends.

Edward could understand that. Forks High was inundated by zombie sheep. They were welcoming enough to Edward at first—but he wasn't having it. They were mindless drones, and Alice was the only one who seemed to notice.

Even Forks had bad seeds, kids from the so-called wrong side of the tracks or jock wannabes who thought that they were hard. They all tried to cozy up to Edward, like getting the inner city punk on their side would be proof positive of their gangsta status. Edward wasn't interested. At all. And he made sure that everyone got the message loud and clear.

A few ladies seemed to think that his reputation made him all the more alluring, and he wasn't quite as harsh towards them, but only because he was a fucking pussy (he could admit that to himself), and still a little terrified of the opposite sex after all of the shit his mother had put him through.

Though he never would have admitted it, Edward found it somewhat comforting to find that his step-sister was a loner like him. He wasn't exactly ready to get them matching friendship bracelets, but he was slowly warming up to her.

But then school let out for summer. And Alice changed. It was like someone flipped a switch.

It was all because Bella came to town.

Not that Bella was any more popular than Alice. If anything, she was even more of a social pariah. Being the daughter of the Chief, everyone seemed to assume that she was a narc. She wasn't exactly fashion-forward either, always going around in baggy sweatshirts and old jeans, in the dead of summer, with her hair a mess. Edward wasn't the one who gave Bella her nickname. "Beast" was an obvious go-to for a girl named _Bella_ who didn't quite live up to the standard of _Belle_ from the Disney movie. But he couldn't deny that it seemed to fit.

Because who was this bitch to just roll into town and ruin everything?

It wasn't just his sister fawning all over Bella, it was his entire family. They were practically in love with the girl. It was _Bella this—_ and _Bella that—_ , all of the time, like she walked on fucking water.

Who the hell was this stranger to show up and get all of the love and affection that was rightfully Edward's? Never mind that Edward spent nine-tenths of his time pushing his family away. They were _his_ , goddammit.

This bitch was an interloper. Her friendship with his so-called sister didn't give Bella any special privileges so far as Edward was concerned. He was going to treat her the same way he treated everyone.

There was another, more fundamental problem when it came to Bella. It was subtle. An instinctual recognition of something not quite right. It was enough to set off Edward's alarm bells, even though he didn't understand why.

He recognized something in Bella. Something broken. The same damn thing that was broken in him.

He couldn't have that. He couldn't sit around and watch this broken thing laughing and joking with his family, like she fit in when he didn't. It was like looking in the mirror, but not. And it was like a knife to the chest, seeing this person who was so very like him succeeding where he was failing. Getting what he wanted but couldn't have.

She made him anxious, too. He didn't know just why that was, but a savvier fellow would've known that it was because he was afraid that she would see through all of his carefully erected walls. Easy as it was for him to see through her, it only made sense that she'd have the same ability when it came to him. But the thought of having someone see him for what he really was turned Edward's stomach. It was a little too much like being back in that hospital, with all of those fucking doctors poking at him and taking pictures, _seeing_ him. Edward didn't want to be seen.

Most of all, Edward feared that sooner or later someone would figure it out. Would recognize the resemblance between the two of them. Then it wouldn't just be Bella seeingEdward for what he was, it would be everyone.

In attempting to diagnose the source of the problem, though, it would be unfair to blame everything on Edward. Bella was by no means eager to welcome Edward into her surrogate family. She'd secretly dreamed of becoming a Cullen for years. Not that her father was cruel—but he wasn't especially loving. And her mother—well, she was a disaster. To Bella, the Cullens were everything.

But here was this interloper. This long-lost son. This stranger.

To Bella, Edward was a Masen, not a real Cullen.

To Edward, Bella was an even bigger outsider than he was.

Such are the vagaries of human emotions that a person can desperately crave the very thing that he or she seems to reject. Edward and Bella desperately craved the affection of the Cullens at the same time that they recoiled from it. They even despised the Cullens a little for offering that affection so freely, so easily, like it meant nothing.

Edward and Bella hated each other not only for the ease with which they inserted themselves into the Cullen clan, but for their obvious discomfort with the same, for rejecting that which they had been given. Because who the fuck was Bella to turn down the love that Edward wanted so badly? And who the fuck was Edward to shit on the family Bella longed for?

It didn't make sense. It was completely fucked up. But it was the way it was.

So it wasn't clear who fired the first shot. They probably would have blamed each other. But who knows—they might have taken some pride in claiming the credit. Because who cares if you started the fight if that means that you aren't the one who took the first hit?

Unfortunately, as far as Edward's shrink was concerned, Edward's failure to get along with Bella just confirmed Edward's inability to make an emotional connection.

Things only got worse when Bella moved to Forks to live with her father year round.

By then, Edward was going to therapy once a week. He'd just go to his shrink's office once a week and sit, not saying a word. Eventually, Carlisle got him another therapist. But it was no good. Edward went through shrink after shrink, each one in turn giving up, because if Edward wasn't going to make an effort then they said that there was nothing that they could do for him.

On the surface, Edward seemed to be doing fine. He was a bit skittish—but who could blame him? Yet he was getting good grades for the first time in his life. He had even managed to make a few acquaintances that occasionally passed as friends.

But Carlisle was afraid that Edward was just shoving all of it down—all of his problems—and that one day he'd blow. So Carlisle made Edward an offer: A six month commitment to genuine therapy and Edward would be able to get a car. Edward had to make a real commitment, though. He couldn't just blow his therapist off again.

Intellectually, Carlisle knew it was a mistake. You can't _make_ a person get help; he has to want it for himself.

But it seemed to work. Edward accepted the offer and he appeared to be trying.

Of course, Edward was just running a con. He would spin his therapist some bullshit about self-worth and how hard it was trying to fit in all of the time. Every once in a while, Edward would make an effort to make it look like the therapy was working—play a football game with Emmett, help Alice with her homework, bake cookies with Esme. His fooled his family. He fooled everyone.

Everyone, that is, except Bella. "How's the therapy going?" she'd ask him, laughing, right in the middle of the fucking parking lot at school, too softly for anyone else to hear, but still. Who the fuck mocks someone for trying to get help? "You're the one who needs help," Edward would snap—which was true, it was obvious that she needed therapy—but she would just laugh even harder. "You might have pulled the wool over everyone else's eyes," she'd say, "but I see you for what you are."

Edward lived in terror that Bella would tell his parents the truth.

He told himself that there was no reason that they'd take her word over his, but Edward had a good reason for believing that they would do just that. She was practically a second daughter.

Then there was the fear that Bella would spread a rumor about him seeing a shrink around school. He had to shut that shit down. So yeah, he spread some rumors of his own. It probably would have made more sense to just back off—call a ceasefire—but Edward wasn't thinking rationally. People believed him, too. After all, his step-sister was Bella's best friend. Who better to know some dirt?

Whenever it occurred to Edward that his efforts might actually be hurting his step-sister—that she might be suffering by association with Bella—he rationalized his efforts by telling himself that Alice had made her bed when she chose Bella over him (because that was how he saw it, nonsensical as it may sound).

Not that Edward was completely heartless. He stepped in whenever it looked like Bella's bad reputation might be affecting his step-sister. "Alice just feels sorry for her," he'd say.

Meanwhile, the therapy appeared to be working. The therapist said that Edward was making real progress.

Which was just proof, in Edward's opinion, that shrinks weren't worth the paper on which their college degrees were printed, because if a sixteen year old could fool a so-called _physician_ , then something was seriously out of whack.

But Edward got his seal of approval and he got his car.

Consequently, Edward never really gotten the help he needed.

All was not lost, however, when it came to healing the divide. For a brief moment during the late spring and early summer of Bella's sixteenth year—Edward was almost seventeen—they were given an opportunity to mend fences. They might have even become friends.

It so happened that Edward and Bella secretly shared a fondness for First Beach, particularly first thing in the morning, when it was deserted.

Edward would run on the beach before school. Running on sand was much harder than running on pavement or a trail. Every slip of his feet was a kind of ' _Fuck you._ ' In fact, Edward's life was pretty much a giant ' _Fuck you_.' Every day, every time someone got in his face, every time he remembered his mother, it was like slipping in the sand. It made Edward try even harder. He'd force himself to put one foot in front of the other.

He'd run until he was panting and dripping with sweat. With no one around, he didn't have to worry about anyone seeing his scars. So he would pull off his shirt and plunge into the water to cool off.

Bella wasn't fond of running. She loved the ocean, though. She loved the melancholy nature of the contrast between grey sea and grey sky. She loved the quiet, the loneliness, arming her—as it did—for the vulgar trials of school (and the less trying task of keeping up with the whims of a flighty Alice). She loved the surge and the froth. The wild, uncaged energy. She'd run full tilt into the water, and dive into the wave, and come up sputtering and teeth chattering. She didn't mind freezing. She even loved it a little, the numbing sensation, like all of her cares drifting away. Bella would lay back and float, closing her eyes and rocking back and forth, back and forth.

"Hey!" An angry voice broke through Bella's reverie, one morning as she floated. "What are you doing here?"

She opened her eyes to confront the intruder, only to find herself facing one Edward Masen—Edward _Cullen_.

"Screw you!" Bella replied instinctively, arms curling protectively around her torso. Normally she would have worn a t-shirt over her bathing suit. But she wasn't expecting anyone to show up.

"You need to go!" Edward declared.

Bella noticed that he wasn't wearing a t-shirt either. And he _always_ wore one, even when they went up to the pool up in Port Angeles.

"I was here first!" Bella announced.

"Bullshit," Edward snapped, even though her statement was in a sense true, Bella _had_ gotten into the water first, while Edward was still running. "I come here every morning," he said.

" _I_ 've never seen you."

"Just because you didn't see me, doesn't mean that I wasn't here."

They glared at each other.

"Are you going to get out of the water?" Bella asked.

"You first."

They glared at each other some more.

This was no mere boundary dispute. Neither would cede their ground because turning to go meant exposing themselves in ways that they were loath to do. Edward never let anyone see his scars. Ever. Not even Carlisle. And as for Bella, well, there was a reason she wore such baggy clothing. The thought of anyone running their eyes over her form—it made her skin crawl.

Alas, their mutual refusal to seek the shore meant that left them to the merciless chill of the icy waters. Both had submerged themselves up to their necks. And they watched each other silently, waiting for one of them to crack.

Bella, having been in the water the longest, was suffering dearly. Her lips were already turning blue.

"Your teeth are chattering," Edward pointed out.

"So are yours."

She was right. Normally, Edward would've been swimming by now, and that would've kept him warm. But just sitting in the water like this had him struggling to adjust to the sudden temperature change. In fact, Bella's custom of swimming (and not running) every morning meant that she was actually much more accustomed to the cold than him. "I like it," Edward lied.

"So do I," Bella (likewise) lied.

And so they stayed in the water, glaring at each other.

"Just get the fuck out already," Bella said (or tried to say, the shivering made it difficult).

"You first."

"Why me?"

Edward smirked. "Didn't you say that you were here first? So you get out first."

As much as Bella wanted to argue the logic of that, she couldn't help but admit that he had a point. Moreover, she was far too cold to hold her ground much longer.

She held out for another minute, but then she had no choice but to give up.

As she started creeping to shore, Bella issued a warning. "Don't look!" She instantly regretted her words, knowing that they gave her away.

"As if," Edward barked a step or two behind her, because he was only too happy to be following her in, almost as cold as she was.

Bella stumbled out of the surf and towards her towel, trying to hurry. But the cold slowed her movements. She shakily wrapped her towel around herself. If anything, she was colder now that she'd left the water than she'd been in the surf, the cool air like ice on her wet skin.

Peeking over the top of her towel, Bella spied Edward crouching over his things, his back towards her. She saw the scars.

Bella looked away quickly, not wanting to see any more. It was none of her business. And she didn't want confirmation for something she'd already expected.

But Edward was finding it just as difficult to maneuver as Bella, the cold slowing him down. He gave up on trying to pull on his t-shirt. Instead, he wrapped himself in his towel and turned to face Bella, realizing too late that he'd turned his back on her.

Noticing his gaze, Bella glared at him again. "Why didn't you see my things?"

"Maybe because I didn't think anyone would be stupid to come out here this early in the morning."

"You're here."

"That's different."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

"So long as you don't come back."

"You can't tell me what to do."

Edward rolled _his_ eyes. "Gonna get daddy to arrest me?"

"Maybe," Bella shrugged.

"Look, I'm gonna keep coming here. You can't stop me."

"And you can't stop _me._ "

"Whatever," Edward said, conceding without conceding.

"Yeah, _whatever_ ," Bella snapped. Grabbing her things, she began trudging her way towards her truck.

The next morning, Bella drove around a bit, looking for Edward's car. She wasn't too surprised when she found it parked at the trail head.

Well, Edward was in for a disappointment if he thought that he could keep Bella away.

Bella drove back to her normal spot and parked. When she reached the sand, Bella felt a flicker of hesitation.

Normally, she'd take off her t-shirt when swimming alone. She didn't like the way the wet fabric dragged against the skin. And it actually made her colder.

But Bella really really really didn't want Edward to catch a glimpse of her in just her bathing suit. Bella didn't like the way that she looked. She secretly wished that she had Alice's figure—a rail thin frame with almost no curves. Bella didn't like the prominence of her breasts or the sway of her backside. She had heard far too many filthy comments from her mother's "boyfriends" over the years, a few of their more lewd remarks addressed to the way Bella was developing.

And Bella had developed significantly since then.

Plagued by unhappy memories, Bella started off for the water, t-shirt firmly in place.

But she was back out of the water a second after she'd entered, pulling the t-shirt over her head and throwing it on the ground.

 _Fuck Edward Masen!_ He could just stay the fuck away from her.

Returning to the water, sans t-shirt, Bella tried to pretend that she was all alone on the beach. For all she knew, Edward wouldn't show. After all, the two of them had managed to avoid each other for quite some time.

What was more, Edward could very well have decided to skip his morning swim altogether. Or maybe he had decided to go to a different part of the beach.

Telling herself that Edward wasn't worth her energy, Bella tried to relax.

But it wasn't working. She couldn't help glancing at the sand every now and then, watching and waiting for Edward to show his face.

So Bella had a full view of Edward as he appeared out of the distance, ducking around a rocky outcropping and heading down the beach. She watched as he finished his run, coming to a stop by the edge of the water and dropping his backpack on the sand. Covertly, she spied as he tried to catch his breath, his hands on his knees, and she watched as he pulled off his shoes and socks. She watched the way he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, obviously trying to decide whether or not to pull it off. Following his line of vision, she realized that he was staring down at her t-shirt, thrown so casually on the sand. A moment later, he pulled his t-shirt off and threw it down on the sand too.

As he turned to start his sprint towards the water, Bella turned away, feigning disinterest.

And Edward ignored her in return.

They didn't speak. They avoided eye contact. They each went about their business, pretending as if they were completely alone, while in fact they were painfully aware of the other's presence.

They went on in this fashion for days.

Bella always left the water first, darting for her clothes and dressing as quickly as possible, choosing to believe that Edward wasn't watching.

He was, though. Not that it meant anything. It was only fair—she got to watch him before he got into the water. He was only replaying the favor. He certainly didn't give a fuck about Bella. Or her curves.

Not that she looked bad, not by a long shot.

But it wasn't any business of his.

And he wasn't stupid. There was a very good reason that a girl that pretty would choose to hide her body. Some scars weren't visible.

Two weeks passed, with Edward and Bella never once speaking and both pretending not to know that the other was even there.

Then, one day, as Bella was leaving the water, she was brought up short by the sight of a seabird standing on her towel.

Another person might not have been bothered by this. Another person probably would've just shooed the bird away.

But Bella didn't like birds. She had been attacked by a bird when she was four years old, and she'd never gotten over it.

"Go away," she cried, her voice an anxious order. Waving her hands, she tried to scare the bird into fleeing.

It simply ignored her.

Bending, Bella picked up some sand and she threw it at the bird, quickly crouching with her hands over her head in case it attacked.

Nothing.

Watching all of this unfold, Edward wasn't quite sure what was going on. The bird was invisible from his vantage point. So when Bella crouched down in the water, it looked like something was attacking Bella.

"What the fuck?" he demanded, charging out of the water.

"It won't move," Bella explained, still crouching as she watched the bird.

"It's just a fucking bird," Edward pointed out, having realized the problem.

"Birds attack people!" Bella exclaimed.

Unimpressed, Edward nevertheless saw that Bella wasn't going to proceed unless someone intervened on her behalf. Shaking his head at her melodramatics, he took it upon himself to try and shoo the bird away.

"Go on," Edward said to the avian interloper. "Get out of here."

But to Edward's surprise, the bird turned to face him, its wings opening as it squawked, looking for all the world like it was in fact going to attack.

Edward stumbled back, cursing.

"Told you," Bella said unhelpfully.

Edward narrowed his eyes at the bird. "What the fuck is its problem?"

"How should I know?"

"You got something over there that the bird wants?"

"Like what?" Bella asked.

"I don't know. Food?"

"No."

Keeping his eyes on the bird, Edward crossed over to his backpack. He pulled on his t-shirt and—in a moment of rare generosity—threw his towel to Bella.

As much as Bella didn't want to accept the towel—the _jerk_ —she was freezing. Her teeth were chattering, and she was getting progressively colder.

Surrendering to the pressure of circumstances, Bella wrapped the towel around her frame.

"Throw your backpack at it," she suggested (her chattering teeth garbling the message a bit).

"You think?"

"I can't just stand here in your towel all day."

Accepting the wisdom of her statement, Edward picked up the backpack and returned to her side. "It's watching us."

"It's global warming."

Edward looked at her.

"It's true," she said. "Climate change has fucked up all of the birds' brains and they're going to kill us off, one by one."

"Are you fucking crazy?"

"Haven't you seen _The Birds_? It's based on a true story. It fucking happened."

Shaking his head, Edward looked back at the bird. "Get ready."

Bella held her breath, cold and anxious. And when, on the count of three, Edward threw the bag at the bird, Bella was surprised to find Edward's arm blocking her body from a potential bird attack (but not touching her) as the two of them crouched, waiting.

Instead of attacking, the bird flew off, squawking in anger.

Cautiously, Edward rose to his feet, Bella behind him. A beat later, she darted for her things, quickly exchanging her towel for his.

"Thanks," she said, not looking at him as she returned his towel, her clothes clutched to her chest as she turned to go back to her truck.

"Whatever," the gallant hero replied.

Strange as this incident was, it was enough to establish a tentative truce between the two. They even went so far as to exchange a few words here and there, commenting once or twice on the weather, and a few times on Alice's antics.

Had they been asked, they would have denied it vehemently, but the fact is, they began to look forward to seeing each other. Or rather, they began to look forward to the newfound company, however unwelcome. It was somewhat comforting to find that they weren't all alone, for once.

Most significantly, neither had resumed wearing the dreaded t-shirt. They respected each other's privacy enough to keep their eyes to themselves.

Unfortunately, it was bound to come to an end.

One afternoon, Edward happened to stop at the gas station in town at the very moment that Lauren Mallory and her crew were passing through.

Now, Lauren was among that cadre of fresh young things who considered Edward a catch. There was just something about him that made him seem irresistible. No doubt it was his unfriendliness. His obvious disinclination to socialize made him seem all the more delectable. He would be invited to parties, because (knowing something of his past as an "urban youth") people thought that he lent a little street cred to their soires. Edward accepted more of these invitations than he would have preferred, knowing that his parents would be pleased at this evidence (however meager) of a social life. To the despair of many a fine young lass, Edward would spend most of his time at these parties drinking alone in a corner. Every once in a while, Lauren or Gianna or some other girl would sneak up next to him and try to start a conversation, slip a hand on his knee or around his neck. If they were lucky, they'd get a kiss. And after a while, they realized that a drunk Edward was a friendlier Edward, so they would go out of their way to supply him with drinks. Pursuing this strategy, Lauren had managed to work her way up to a few heavy petting sessions with Edward. But her progress had stalled, her willingness to pull off her top and to let Edward feel her up being unreciprocated, Edward pulling her hands away whenever she tried to slip her hands under his shirt. Their last make-out session ended in a huff, with Edward walking out when Lauren tried to pull his shirt off.

Edward had pretty much ceased all contact with Lauren after the t-shirt incident. So, seeing him at the gas station one afternoon, Lauren decided that it was her lucky day.

Putting on her most coquettish smile, she strolled over. "Haven't seen you for a while," she said, leaning up against the gas pump.

Edward glanced at her and then away, fiddling with the pump. "Been busy."

Lauren sighed. "I know, right. Summer's always just so jam-packed. I never know if I'm coming or going."

He didn't reply.

"So the girls and I are headed to Port Angeles, today. Wanna come?" Lauren asked.

Edward scratched his head. "I kind of have stuff to do."

"Oh yeah, of course. I just meant if you were free or whatever." Lauren waited. "Okay, see you around then."

Disappointed, Lauren headed back into the convenience store, ignoring the cackles that met her, Gianna and the rest of her so-called friends having taken a little too much pleasure in watching Lauren crash and burn.

A minute later, Edward headed inside, too, annoyed because he didn't want another run-in with Lauren. But he was out of defroster.

Rushing, Edward was happy to reach the register without incident, only to hear someone address him.

"Hey."

Edward turned and saw Bella right behind him in line, a container of oil in her hands.

And just over her shoulder, Edward could see Lauren and Gianna and Makenna and Emily and Leah—the whole damn clique—silently observing, just waiting to report back to the school about everything they saw and heard.

And God forbid Bella should slip and say something about the scars—the scars he knew that she'd seen.

 _Fuck that._

Sneering down at Bella, he scoffed. "What the fuck are you doing talking to me?"

And turning, he paid the cashier, telling her to keep the change as hurried out of the store as fast as he could.

Running from Lauren. Running from Bella. Wanting to get as far away from both of them as possible.

As for Bella, she had no idea that Forks High's reigning bitches had witnessed the entire exchange from the back of the shop. She stood there, her mouth hanging open, watching Edward's back as he retreated.

"Who the hell do you think you are, talking to Edward?" a voice asked.

Spinning, Bella saw Lauren, standing with her hands on her hips a few feet away.

"Do you honestly think that you're good enough to speak to Edward Cullen?" Lauren asked.

Bella blinked. _Was this bitch serious?_

Seriously, who the fuck did Lauren think she was?

Because, come the fuck on.

But then, it was like someone pushed a button, and Bella suddenly realized that she'd just been given a beautiful opportunity. It was like the universe was handing her a gift on a silver fucking platter.

Bella smiled. "Actually, I know Edward very well."

Lauren and her fellow bitches cackled at that.

"I doubt that," Lauren said.

"We go swimming almost every morning together."

"Bullshit."

"Come see for yourself. He'll be there tomorrow. Six o'clock. First Beach. But don't be too early. Edward will turn around and go home if he thinks that anyone's already there. He likes to be the first one in the water. It's like a thing."

Turning back to the register, Bella handed her credit card to the cashier.

"I don't believe you," Lauren said.

"I told you, come see for yourself."

"Maybe I will."

Shrugging, Bella grabbed her credit card and fled—her work done.

Meanwhile, Edward was racking his brain for a way to fix the problem he'd created.

He knew that he'd fucked up. He should have just greeted Bella and gone on his way. She was friends with his sister, after all. It was to be expected that they'd be cordial to each other.

But Bella had seen too much. Edward didn't want her anywhere near Lauren. It was very important to him that his worlds remain separate.

And now he knew that Bella was pissed, because she wasn't there. She should have been in the water, waiting for him, but she was nowhere in sight.

Annoyed and a little uncomfortable with the fact that he was annoyed—because why should he care if Bella got her nose out of whack?—Edward pulled off his t-shirt and dived into the waves.

The cold surf helped relieve some of his anxiety. But he still felt like a dick. He was even toying with the idea of apologizing.

That would be a first. He and Bella _never_ apologized to each other, even when Alice was begging them to bury the hatchet, or when Carlisle and Esme was cautiously suggesting that they might have carried things a little too far.

This time, though, maybe Edward would say that he was sorry.

He had just about decided to go through with this plan when he saw them. Lauren and Gianna and Makenna and Emily and Leah. All of them stripped down to their bikinis, and all of them heading down to the water. Heading towards him.

Where he treaded water, sans t-shirt, his torso bare and scars on full display.

Edward would have given anything right then to be wearing that damn t-shirt.

He stayed in the water as long as he could, long after the ladies had returned to the sand.

He stayed until he was so fucking numb that he was worried that he might actually be coming down with hypothermia.

At last, when he couldn't take it anymore, he forced himself to go ashore.

And they watched him the entire way, their eyes running over his skin, taking in the evidence of his past.

Edward wanted to snarl at them, tell them to keep their fucking eyes to themselves.

But he didn't want to give himself away. Didn't want them to know that he cared.

Bella was bad enough. But she at least understood.

Or so he thought.

Later, that afternoon, Edward was at home, playing a stupid video game with Emmett (mostly because it would make his parents happy), when Bella happened to pass through the living.

"Enjoy your swim this morning?" she asked, laughing as she skipped by.

And all at once, Edward saw the truth: Lauren didn't just stumble onto First Beach by accident. Bella had told Lauren about his swim. Bella had betrayed him.

Edward avoided First Beach after that. He stuck to trail-running in the woods.

He began skipping out on parties, too, hesitant about seeing Lauren and the others again. Unwilling to face their ridicule. As far as he knew, they had kept their mouths shut, but he was worried about testing it.

Finally, he decided to just get it over with. If they were going to humiliate him, at least he wouldn't have to worry about it anymore.

Hell—he could even start changing with the rest of the guys in the main locker room.

Invited to Tyler's for beers, Edward wasn't surprised when he quickly found himself cornered by Lauren.

"Wanna go upstairs?" she asked, twirling a piece of hair like an idiot.

"Nope."

"Oh come on. I'll make it worth your while."

Edward was sober enough to know that she was probably setting him up, but drunk enough to figure that he might as well go for it.

"Is it because of your scars?" she asked once they were alone in Tyler's bedroom. Crawling up behind him where he was sitting on the bed, she began to massage his shoulders (which tensed at the word _scars_ ). "Because you know that I don't care about them."

Edward snorted.

"Really," she said. "I think they're sexy."

 _Sexy?_

Sexy.

 _What the fuck was wrong with her?_

Couldn't she tell how he'd gotten them?

"Prove it," he said, because _Who the hell thinks scars like that are sexy?_

She began nibbling on Edward's ear and he pulled away.

"You don't like that?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"You want something else?" Her hand slid to his crotch.

He pushed her hand away.

When Lauren moved off of the bed and kneeled in front of Edward, he almost laughed in her face. Was she really going to give him a blow job?

She was.

Which was just so very fucked up. So fucked up that he could hardly handle it.

And when, afterwards, she asked him if he wanted to reciprocate, Edward just stared at her for a minute before getting up and walking out.

Which was probably a shitty thing to do. But such is life.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

Eleven years later, Edward found himself standing in his step-sister's kitchen, watching his stepmother embrace Bella. And it was all he could do to quell the surge of jealousy.

He'd always been envious of his parents' feelings towards Bella.

But now he was envious of Bella's affection for his parents.

Not that he wanted Bella to look at him the way she had clearly always looked at them—it was obvious that she saw them as surrogate parents—but because Edward envied the familiarity and comfort that his parents seemed to enjoy with Bella. He wanted her to feel that way with him.

Except that he was also watching when Esme moved to embrace Bella. He saw the way Bella stiffened in Esme's arms.

And it set off an irrational wave of annoyance in Edward's chest. The same annoyance that Edward used to feel when he would see Bella rejecting one of Esme's overtures, back when they were teenagers.

Couldn't Bella tell how much Esme just wanted to love her? Didn't Bella realize how much she was hurting Esme?

Edward hated seeing the pain on Esme's face whenever Bella would pull away from her. It was the same expression that Edward saw whenever _he_ would pull away from Esme. And as much as he hated to see it, he couldn't stop himself from pulling away.

But rather than blame himself, he blamed Bella. Because she ought to have known better.

Seeing his parents at Alice's party was something of a surprise. He didn't know that they were going to be there. It was the first time that he'd seen them since that disastrous weekend he'd introduced them to Tanya—the same weekend that his father had told Edward that his real mother, Victoria, was dead.

Edward wasn't really ready to face them again, not yet.

So he was glaring when Bella turned and caught his eye.

Edward knew that she was upset when she fled the kitchen, but he wasn't sure how he felt about her obvious distress. Reverting to his teenaged self, Edward almost felt as if Bella deserved to be upset. She'd hurt Esme. On the other hand, he couldn't help wanting to comfort her.

After a brief word to his parents—during which he stuck to the basics ( _I'm fine; Work's fine_ )—Edward went in search of Bella.

He didn't have much trouble finding her. There wasn't really anywhere to hide in Alice's apartment.

She was sitting in Alice's bedroom, clearly enjoying a moment's solitude.

"You okay?" Edward asked.

"Yeah, of course," Bella said, putting her hands to her cheeks.

She wasn't quite sure why she'd let herself get so worked up. What was done was done. There was no going back.

Bella could hear Jasper taking song requests in the living room. It sounded like they were going to play karaoke.

The mattress dipped as Edward sat down next to her.

But he didn't speak. To Bella's surprise, the two of them sat there in silence for a few minutes. And it wasn't awkward.

"The thing about them," Edward said at last. "The thing about Esme and my dad, it's just hard to be around them sometimes."

When Bella didn't reply, Edward continued. "Not that they aren't nice. They're just fine." He paused again. "Actually, maybe that's the problem. They're _too_ nice. All of the time. So fucking nice. And you ask yourself, what's wrong with me that I can't just enjoy it. Can't just accept what they're giving me and be happy."

There was another minute of silence. And just when Edward decided that Bella wasn't going to say anything after all, she agreed. "Yeah, it's like that."

 **AN: Revelations in the next chapter, I promise.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning: Reference to attempted rape in this chapter. This is the censored version.**

 **And I know that I promised that the philosophizing was over and done with, but a certain dead Roman had more stuff to say.**

 **Disclaimer: Characters belong to Stephanie Meyers. Aside from a few obvious parallels to the** _ **Twilight**_ **universe, this plot belongs to me.**

' _Like a rosy apple on a high branch is the maiden; the pickers have forgotten her.' —_ Sappho, translator unknown

Chapter 19

Perhaps it was the pattern of the clouds crossing over the moon. Or perhaps it was the hint of the rain in the air. Or some secret portent in the alignment of the stars.

Whatever the explanation, something had obviously changed.

After much pleading, Edward had convinced Bella to attend a charity exhibition organized to raise money for the pediatric wing of his hospital. Edward had excused his request to her, explaining that her company was necessary to stave off the tedium of an event that he was required to attend. But the truth was, Edward's attendance wasn't mandatory. He _wanted_ to go. And he wanted Bella on his arm.

Bella had accepted, and had even gone so far as to accept the gift of a particularly becoming frock from Alice, just the thing to accentuate Bella's best attributes.

Edward had offered to pick Bella up, but she had insisted on making her own way to the gallery, not wanting Edward to go out of his way. So Edward wasn't prepared for the sight that met his eyes as he came around a corner of the gallery and found Bella. He had been looking for her for several minutes, having received her text saying that she had arrived, and had almost decided to give her a call, because she wasn't in the main part of the party.

The wing looked deserted, and Edward didn't think that Bella would be interested in any of the piece on display here—all modern works, not at all in keeping with Bella's Classical tastes—but to Edward's surprise, she was there alright, holding audience with a veritable copy of Bernini's _Daphne and Apollo_.

At first, the sculpture didn't seem to make any sense in that wing, surrounded as it was by the abstract and surreal. The realism of Apollo's features, the horror on Daphne's face as she struggled to escape—it should have been jarring against the avant-garde nature of the surrounding sculptures, except that the closest pieces were abstract approximations of shrubbery and vines, and upon closer examination, it was obvious that the curator wanted viewers to imagine themselves in a forest. A viewer could even imagine himself an Apollo, right on Daphne's heels.

But Edward wasn't paying much attention to the art. It wasn't just Bella's dress that he found so distracting, lovely though the rich brown fabric was, draped over Bella's form, with the material clinging here and trailing away there in an oddly structure-less way that was all the more beguiling for appearing so simple. It wasn't just the way that the straps on Bella's sandals wrapped around her calves, oddly fetching detail though that was.

It was Bella itself, her head tilted back as she gazed up at the statue, her eyes bright and her lips parted as she stared.

Watching her for a minute before announcing his presence, Edward tried to identify the expression on her face. Secure in the belief that she didn't know that she was being watched, Edward studied the rise and fall of Bella's chest as she put a hand to her throat.

Her voice, when she spoke, was barely above a whisper. And Edward had no choice then but to emerge from the shadows in order to hear.

He paused behind her, a hairsbreadth away from touching her.

"They used to believe the statues of the gods could come alive," she said. "Can you imagine that?"

It took Edward a moment to register her words—he was so concentrated on staring at her lips—so it was a moment before he could really make sense of what she'd said and think about what it meant.

 _They used to believe the statues of the gods could come alive._

 _Could he imagine that?_

No, of course not. There was no such thing as a god or God or YHWH or Allah or Buddha.

Bella reached a hand towards the statue, but she didn't touch it, her fingers frozen in the air. "There was a statue of Aphrodite at Cnidos. They said that you could see the stain from a man's semen on her leg. He'd fallen in love with her and had made love to her statue."

Edward's head filled with pornographic images. The thought of a man making love to the statue of the goddess of love was—

 _Lust_ , Edward realized. _The expression on Bella's face is lust_.

Edward didn't quite know what to do with that—because this was all so new to him—and yet he didn't dare interrupt her.

Bella licked her lips. "When the Christians came, they broke the statues apart and scattered the pieces. All of that artwork—all of those gods—destroyed. You could save a statue if you said that it was _just_ art, denied that it was a god. So whole temples were turned into art galleries. But if you wanted to go see the statues after that, you weren't allowed to raise your eyes to look at them, for fear that it would be misconstrued as worship. Can you imagine that?" The longing in her voice was plain. "Being _there_ , but not being able to look?"

Edward felt a tension in his chest.

She swallowed again. "We hardly have any originals left. Did you know that? Most of it's Renaissance copies of Roman imitations. Copies of copies." Bella made a derisive noise. "And they used to paint the statues, too. The Romans originals were covered in this hideous paint—it was supposed to make the gods look more lifelike, but today we're so used to seeing the statues with the paint all worn away, perfectly white. It seems garish to us to imagine the statues looking any other way." Bella's hand returned to her throat. "I think they're better without the paint. The skin so pale. You can see the muscles rippling under the flesh."

Standing right behind her by then, Edward watched Bella's fingers tracing the hollow of her neck.

"I wonder what that means," she admitted. "That I prefer them like this. Is it because they seem _less_ lifelike? More ethereal? More removed? I don't know, because sometimes I imagine—"

She broke off, Edward waiting for her to continue, but the silence stretched out. At last, unable to bear it any longer, he prompted her. "What?" he asked, his voice low and husky in her ear. "What do you imagine?"

She hesitated, and her answer was so soft that he had to drop his head down to hear, so that they were standing almost cheek to cheek. "I imagine what it would be like to run my tongue over the stone."

Edward had to clench his fists to stop himself from reacting.

"Would it be cool to the touch?" she asked, emboldened now that she'd made her confession. "Like stone ought to be? Or would it be warm? Would I feel the muscles writhing? Would it taste like salt?"

"You want that?" Edward asked, his voice husky.

But then Edward made a mistake. Dragging his eyes away from Bella, he ran his eyes over the sculpture, wanting to understand what it was that Bella was seeing.

And what he saw wasn't good.

Yes, he saw beauty. He saw the sublime.

But it wasn't something a person ought to want.

He saw the implication of violence in the straining of Apollo's muscles, the fear as Daphne twisted away, desperate to escape.

Not really wanting to hear the answer, Edward asked. "You want something like that?"

When Bella didn't answer, Edward pressed again. "You want to be snared? Unable to escape?"

He waited, the silence stretching out again.

This time, it lasted so long that he had decided that she wasn't going to respond. So he was surprised to hear Bella's voice at last, soft though it was.

"I think—I think sometimes that it would be better to feel something rather than nothing."

Stumbling backwards, Edward wanted nothing more than to unhear the words that Bella had just said.

 _She felt nothing_.

 _She thought that she was the one who was just going through the motions?_

Of the two of them, Edward had been so sure that _he_ was the one with that problem. _He_ was the one with nothing. Unable to experience any new joy. Any new hope. Dead inside.

"There you are," a voice called from the other entrance of the hall.

Bristling at the intrusion, Edward turned and saw Cheney entering with Stefanos, a fellow physician from the hospital. For some reason, neither one had brought a date that night. Edward had already spied them trawling for women to pick up.

"Are you going to introduce us to the lovely lady?" Stefanos asked.

Edward would have preferred to tell Stefanos to go to hell. He had never liked the guy.

Returning to his spot by Bella's side, and unable to quell a sudden possessive feeling, Edward slipped an arm around Bella's waist as he performed the introductions.

"You like sculpture?" Cheney asked, looking at Bella.

She glanced back at the statue and Edward tightened his grip around her waist. He would not be held responsible for his actions if Bella told Stefanos that she fantasized about fucking Apollo.

Fortunately, Bella appeared to have gotten over her temporary lust, because when she answered Cheney, her voice was cool, detached. Edward recognized her tone from her lecture in the auditorium. "Bernini's _Daphne and Apollo_ has always been one of my favorites."

Stefanos was looking at the image quizzically. "I don't get it," he said. "What's with the leaves?"

"Apollo was in love with Daphne. She refused him, but he wouldn't take no for an answer. Desperate to escape, Daphne pleaded for help. A god granted her wish by turning her into a tree."

"That sucks," Stefanos observed. "I mean, great, you don't have to hook up with a creeper, but bad news, you're a tree now."

Bella hitched a shoulder.

"So what do you do?" Cheney asked.

"I'm going to school," Bella explained.

"She's getting her doctorate in Ancient Mediterranean studies," Edward supplied, in a tone that an outside observer would have recognized as pride.

Stefanos whistled. "Ooh, fancy. So I guess you know all about this Greek stuff."

"A little something," Bella conceded.

Cheney asked her a question about her research, and Edward bristled again, because if she started talking about virginity, Edward was going to—

"It's not very interesting. Changing views of morality in Late Antiquity."

"Morality?" Stefanos asked.

Edward glared at him.

"Well, like charity. It existed, but something like this," Bella looked around. "The Romans would have something like this in their own houses. There weren't many publicly funded galleries. And they donated to charity, but not often."

"The money from tonight's going to pay for a lot of valuable new equipment," Cheney explained.

"And the canapés are delicious," Stefanos said. "Have you tried any?"

Bella shook her head.

"Well Edward should stop holding you hostage back here and let you come eat," Cheney chastened. "Come on, Edward."

The four of them wandered back to the main gallery and tried the canapés. They were, indeed, delicious.

But Edward was suddenly second-guessing his decision to bring Bella.

He wasn't worried about Bella enjoying herself. If anything, she seemed relaxed and confident.

 _Too_ relaxed and confident. It bothered Edward more than he wanted to admit watching Bella like this. He was jealous, yes, but more than that, he realized that _this_ was the way that Bella should always seem. Calm. Strong.

And it didn't escape Edward's notice that Cheney looked at ease right next to her. They looked like they belonged together.

Cheney was normal, and Bella deserved someone normal. Not a fuck up like Edward.

Edward's thoughts kept returning to that statue of Daphne and Apollo. He couldn't get Bella's words out of his head.

The thought that she might actually crave something like that—

She deserved normal.

And if she wasn't with someone normal, a man like Cheney, it was because of Port Angeles.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

Bella could tell that something was off with Edward, and she was afraid that that something was her.

She knew that she was being weird.

Or rather she _felt_ weird.

All dressed up in her borrowed garb. She was trying very hard to fit in, but she clearly wasn't pulling it off, because Edward was getting quieter with every passing moment.

Bella was just so damn nervous. Arriving at the gallery that night, she was had been so anxious that she had ducked out of the main hall and escaped down a corridor. She didn't mean to go far—she just needed a few moments to collect herself—but then she found the sculpture, and her heart gave a lurch.

At first, she thought it was the original—and she couldn't believe her eyes—but then she realized it was a copy. Or rather, a close imitation. There were subtle differences. But it was close enough.

And Bella had always loved Bernini's _Daphne and Apollo_. If she ever got the chance to go to Rome, visiting the statue would be one of her first stops. There was just something about it.

Apollo wasn't particularly appealing. Not as a specimen of masculine virility, at least. Not to Bella. She much preferred Daphne, at least aesthetically.

The depiction of the young woman was just so incredibly lifelike. A ripple of fat at her hips, bulging out as she twisted away. Her mouth open—was she gasping for breath or was she about to yell in horror? Bella had always wondered about the reason for Daphne's expression. Was it the dread of what awaited her if the god captured her, or the panic as she felt her flesh began to give way to bark?

Bella had seen several photos of Bernini's statue, but it was so much more imposing in person, even if she was only seeing an imitation.

She couldn't help but stand there, staring at it. Utterly transfixed.

When Edward found her, Bella was a trifle unnerved. The statue did something to her—she couldn't deny it. And she didn't blame him for being put off by her behavior.

She tried to make up for her faux pas, though. Never having been one for socializing, she nevertheless tried. As she circulated through the crowd, she pretended that everyone she encountered was just a recalcitrant student that she was trying to coax into conversation. She found that if she asked the right questions, they did most of the talking themselves.

When Edward suggested they leave early, it was only a little after seven.

"I don't have work or school tomorrow until the afternoon," Bella said. "I hope you're not leaving on my account."

He shook his head. "Early surgery."

She wondered if he was lying, but she didn't put up a protest as they collected their coats and made their way out to Edward's car.

Still, Bella tried to give Edward an out, in case Edward _was_ annoyed with her. "Are you sure that you can give me a ride? I can take the bus."

"Your place is on the way," he reminded her.

So, despite her growing sense of unease, Bella let him drive her home.

And with every passing block Bella, felt her annoyance and anxiety rise.

If Edward was angry at her, she wished that he would just tell her what she'd done wrong.

If he wasn't angry, then he was just being a jerk.

 _Actually_ , she decided, _he's a jerk either way_.

The way that he was giving her the silent treatment—that shit was juvenile.

As they pulled up in front of Bella's apartment, Bella was trying to decide whether to tell him to just come out with it already or to _fuck off._

But before Bella could decide which to do, Edward dropped a hand to her wrist and held her in place.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he apologized.

She thought that he was apologizing for being so quiet all evening.

"I'm so fucking sorry for Port Angeles," he clarified.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

By the beginning of Bella's senior year in high school, she was ready to get out of Forks. Bella was only seventeen years old, but she was sick and fucking tired of living in that town. She was sick of small-minded, judgmental sons of bitches and hypocrites.

Not that she could blame them for what they thought of Bella's mother.

But to take that out on Bella—

How could they?

And they called themselves Christians? Going to church every Sunday, then turning around and treating Bella like trash. Whispering about her behind her back. Oh, she knew what they were saying. As far as they were concerned, Bella was no better than her whore mother.

Not that Bella had ever done anything to attract the romantic attentions of any male in that town. She was careful to dress in clothes that concealed her form. She usually went out of her way to avoid all contact with men, including her teachers and Carlisle. Even her father's deputies.

She didn't deserve the way that Forks was treating her. In fact, that town owed her.

Well, they owed her father. He had been Chief of police for nearly a decade. He deserved better from that town.

But ever since her father's accident—his cruiser skidding into a tree on a lonely mountain road—the town had turned its back on the Swans.

Oh, at first they'd feigned sympathy. Sending "Get Well" cards and flowers to her father's hospital room, for all the good that would do him.

Six months after his accident, he still required round-the-clock care. He was confined to his hospital bed in the Seattle clinic where he'd been transferred. The doctors said that he would probably never walk again.

And where were the lovely people of Forks then? The care baskets had stopped coming. The "Get Well" cards had yellowed with age and the flowers were all dead. The visitors had long since ceased to stop by.

But it would be wrong to say that Forks had ceased to care. Alas, its one act of kindness was at the same time an act of cruelty: Not one report was made to the authorities regarding the fact that a minor was living by herself without adult supervision. Bella lived on her own, a seventeen year old, for nearly three months, and she went on living alone after her eighteenth birthday. And no one said a single word. Everyone knew what was happening. But no one wanted to take the chance that a complaint would bring Renee back to town. Some even reasoned that Bella was better off on her own. Better off without Renee, that is.

The town's silence was particularly suspicious when it came to the Cullens. If anyone was going to take an interest in Bella's welfare, it ought to have been the Cullens. They were the ones, after all, who took Bella in when Charlie was first hurt.

Of course, that ended as soon as Renee rolled into town. But after Renee left—was driven out—the Cullens should have taken Bella back. They should have insisted that she return.

In their defense, Bella _was_ invited back to the Cullens' home. Esme stood in Bella's kitchen, pleading with the girl to return.

But how could Bella ever accept such an offer? She couldn't even bear to meet Esme's eyes. _Didn't Esme know that Edward was one of the boys being mentioned in the stories about Renee?_

And as for Bella's friendship with Alice, well, suffice it to say that the two friends were going through a rough patch. After the rumors about Renee began going around, Bella had only been able to bring herself to speak to Alice a few times, and then only in horribly stilted conversations in which the two friends pretended not to notice the elephant in the room.

So Bella refused Esme's offer, said that she would be just fine on her own, would _prefer_ to be on her own, in fact.

Esme knew that was bullshit, but she accepted the lie. She hated herself a little for that, but Esme knew how much Bella and Edward fought with one another. Esme could only imagine how awful their fighting would be now.

And, God help her, Esme was even a little afraid that there might be a grain of truth to the rumors about Renee and Edward. Esme loved Edward. Loved him like he was her own son. But she didn't trust him. And if something had in fact happened with Renee, Esme believed that Renee, not Edward, was the one who was at fault. Esme knew damn well that Renee had _offered_ herself to those boys. And if they accepted, it was because they were too young and stupid and naïve to know any better.

But a decision like that could ruin a boy's life. Esme knew how fragile Edward was. And she didn't want him being reminded of his mistake every day.

Bella _would_ remind him, too—she would rub it in his face. As much as Esme loved the girl, Esme also knew that Bella wouldn't miss the opportunity to take a shot at Edward. Just like he wouldn't miss the opportunity to take a shot back.

Esme told herself that it was in Bella's interests, really, that she not have to face Edward.

There was just so much animosity between the two teenagers. Esme had been truly shocked by some of the things she'd overheard the two of them saying to each other when they thought no one was listening. They maintained a cold truce whenever Carlisle and Esme were in the room, but whenever the teenagers weren't under direct supervision, the two of them seemed to take a special delight in tearing each other apart. It frightened Esme to realize how much they hated each other.

If Bella moved back to the Cullens' now, there was a chance, of course, that Bella would keep her mouth shut. She might very well be sufficiently embarrassed over her mother's behavior to stay mum.

But the sight of the girl, day in and day out, would be a painful reminder to Edward of his mistake.

Esme couldn't put Edward through that. As much as he seemed to have improved over the last few years, Esme was afraid that he would begin to backslide.

And that would be just so unfair. Edward would be leaving for college in two months. He was talking about going into a premed program. He had his whole life ahead of him. Edward didn't deserve for all of that to be screwed up by some slut.

By "slut," naturally, Esme meant Renee, not Bella. Esme knew that woman was trouble the moment she laid eyes on her.

Long before she met Renee face-to-face, Esme had seen enough to know that Renee was a shitty mother. Bella returned to Forks every summer a little more jaded, a little more skittish. Bella was clearly experiencing things no girl her age should have to know about.

When Bella began living in Forks year-round, Esme was thrilled. Esme did her best to be the mother that she knew Bella didn't have. It was obvious, too, that Bella was desperate for affection. Esme was all too happy to offer it, and Bella seemed to be doing better. She was still skittish, but Esme could tell that she was beginning to lose some of her cynicism.

If only Edward and Bella weren't such a bad influence on each other.

Something seemed to happen whenever the two of them were in close proximity. They would both change, walls going up and the weapons coming out. They would revert to the old Bella and the old Edward—so closed off, so defensive. Esme hated to see it.

So she accepted Bella's lie. Esme took Bella's word for it that she would be better off living on her own. Esme reasoned that it was in Bella's interests—that it wouldn't do Bella any good having to face Edward.

To ease her conscience, Esme would stop by Bella's every once in a while, to make sure that the girl was doing alright. And by the end of August, when Edward left for college in Seattle, Bella had been living on her own for two months. She seemed to be doing just fine, and she refused Esme's renewed offer to stay with the Cullens.

So Esme told herself that Bella was okay on her own. After all, Edward would be coming home for the weekends and the holidays, and if he had to face Bella, he might decide to stay away.

Besides, Bella was a mature girl. And no doubt Charlie would be out of the hospital soon.

Except that he wasn't. The likelihood of him ever leaving the hospital was low, and Esme should have known that. And what teenage girl is mature enough to live on her own when her father's lying paralyzed in a hospital?

In Esme's defense, Bella's father was becoming more and more lucid. He was coherent enough to ask Bella about her accommodations. He was grateful to hear that the Cullens had taken her in. He had no idea, of course, that a careful use of the past tense was all that kept this from being a lie. He made sure that Bella had access to a bank account to pay for her needs and counted himself lucky. He had no idea that Renee had ever come to town.

Unsurprisingly, the start of Bella's senior year saw her alone and lonely. When Bella was living with her mother during the school year, autumn always left her depressed. As much as she missed her mother during the summer, Bella hated the way her mother lived. And the end of summer meant going back to that.

Once Bella started living in Forks year-round, however, her attitude changed drastically. Autumn became her favorite time of the year.

But this year was different. For the first time since she started living in Forks year-round, the start of autumn left Bella depressed. Autumn meant school, and going to school meant having to face all of the other students. Bella had never been popular. But now she was in hell.

Lunches were spent hiding in her truck alone. Bella was barely talking to Alice. And Alice didn't seem to really mind the change. If anything, Alice seemed to be more popular than ever.

When Bella wasn't in school, she was at home. She rarely went out. She had stopped shopping in Forks altogether, unable to bear the comments. Every few weeks, Bella drove all of the way to Port Angeles for her food, stocking up on canned products and other non-perishables.

The Friday night before Halloween, Bella's house fell victim to vandals. The trees in her yard were decorated with toilet paper. The front of the house was egged and the word "whore" was spray-painted on the front door. Bella slept through the festivities, the television playing in the background, set to QVC because Bella liked the homey quality of the presenters, the way that they made a viewer feel like she was part of the family.

When Bella saw the vandalism, she was too embarrassed to call the police. Bella knew that her father's deputies were the ones responsible for running her mother out of town. She couldn't bear the thought of having to face any of them.

She did her best to clean the egg off the siding, using a hose. She used a ladder to clean up the toilet paper. And she found an old can of paint in the basement and painted over the graffiti on the door.

When she was done, Bella drove up to Port Angeles. She knew that her truck wasn't really up to the drive, but she needed to get out of that town, if only for a few hours.

Once in Port Angeles, Bella headed for her favorite used bookshops. She spent most of the afternoon and early evening hours wandering through the stacks, idly browsing the books.

She was eyeing a shelf of Brontes when she noticed a book that had been misshelved. Bella hated that. Grabbing the volume in question, Bella intended to make sure that it was shelved properly, but first, she decided to just glance inside.

" _A single day strews everything in ruins."_

Bella snorted. Because, yeah, life was like that.

And flipping to another, she read another line. " _To be afflicted with endless sorrow at the loss of someone very dear is foolish self-indulgence._ "

Bella was struck with a surge of anger at that— _what kind of fuckery was this?—_ but she kept reading.

" _And to feel no sorrow at such a loss is inhuman callousness. The best compromise between love and good sense is both to feel longing and to conquer it."_

Well—

Well, Bella _was_ feeling a bit selfish. Her father was lying in a hospital, and here she was trying to forget her troubles for a few hours.

But it wouldn't do good to wallow.

How was Bella supposed to figure out the "appropriate" level of grief, though? Every time she started thinking about her father, she felt like she was drowning. Or else she felt nothing at all, as if she was dead inside.

She kept reading.

" _You have to get used to your circumstances, complain about them as little as possible, and grasp whatever advantage they have to offer."_

How could there possibly be any advantage to her father's accident?

" _Think your way through difficulties: harsh conditions can be softened, restricted ones can be widened and heavy ones can weigh less on those who know how to bear them._ "

How the fuck was Bella supposed to change the fact that her father was lying in a hospital bed or that the entire town of Forks had decided to ostracize her?

" _Fortune falls heavily on those to whom she is unexpected; the man who is always expecting her easily withstands her._ "

Well, Bella had that one covered, at least. She had been telling herself to expect the worst for a while now. It hurt too much to hope.

" _Only the most worthless of our possessions can come into the power of another_."

That was bullshit. Bella had no control over anything. Other people had all of the power. They did things and she reacted. The end.

Yet a part of Bella couldn't help wondering if that was really true. She was the one who made the decision to go home with Renee, when her mother showed up at the Cullens' door after Charlie's accident. And afterwards, Bella had refused Esme's offer to return to the Cullens. Bella was the one who decided not to call the police about the vandalism. She thought that it would be worse if she made waves. But was that true?

" _As for those sour and disapproving characters, those critics of other people's lives—and spoilers of their own—who set themselves up as moral tutors to society at large, you needn't give a damn for them."_

Oh, how Bella longed to march into the churches of Forks one fine Sunday. She so wanted to tell the people of that town what she really thought of them.

" _Nothing will help quite so much as just keeping quiet, talking with others as little as possible, with yourself as much as possible. For conversation has a kind of charm about it, an insinuating and insidious something that elicits secrets from us just like love or liquor. Nobody will keep the things he hears to himself and nobody will repeat just what he hears and no more_."

Bella felt something inside her thrum in agreement. The people of Forks were a bunch of gossiping liars. And Bella had no problem keeping to herself. Fuck everyone else.

" _Somewhere or other we are going to have encounters with wild beasts, and with man, too—more dangerous than all those beasts. Floods will rob us of one thing, fire of another. These are the conditions of our existence which we cannot change. What we can do is adopt a noble spirit, such a spirit as befits a good man, so that we may bear up bravely under all that fortune sends us."_

Bella didn't deserve to be treated the way that the "good" people of Forks were treating her. If she made a mistake in leaving the Cullens to go stay with Renee in Charlie's house after his accident, then she had learned her lesson. And the punishment far outweighed the crime.

It wasn't fair.

And what was more, it had nothing to do with her. She wasn't a whore. The people of Forks could treat her like shit, but that wouldn't make her a slut. They could egg her house, but they couldn't make her lose her self-respect. That was _Private Property of Isabella Marie Swan_.

She wasn't stupid, either. She knew the road ahead. Her father was probably never going to recover. Awful as that would be, it wouldn't mean her life was over. In fact, Bella had already applied for several colleges. And she was looking into all of the funding opportunities. Her future didn't look rosy, but she at least had a future.

Bella sat on the floor of that bookshop, thumbing through the rest of the pages in that volume of essays by a dead Roman. She didn't agree with everything she read that day, but she found it something of a consolation to find that this Seneca guy was just as lost as she was. He was trying to figure things out.

Such was Bella's fascination with the volume in question, that she lost track of time. When the proprietor of the shop told her that he was closing up, she was surprised to see that it almost nine o'clock. Bella paid for her books, including the Seneca, and began what should have been a short trek back to the parking lot where she'd left her truck, hastily traversing the quiet intersections and eyeing the dark alleys.

She had only gone a few blocks before she realized that she'd taken a wrong turn. Not recognizing the area, Bella began to backtrack.

And swinging around a corner, she found herself face to face with a group of young men obviously out for a night of fun.

"Hey there," one of them said in a drunken slur. "How you doin'?"

Bella felt relieved when she recognized the voice. It was one of Forks High's illustrious jocks. He was a jerk, but at least she knew him.

Her sense of relief started to evaporate, however, when one of the young men in the party blocked Bella's path. "What you doing in this part of town?"

Backing up, Bella started to reply when she was cut off by the first one.

"Working, like her mom."

Angry then, Bella turned to tell the first one off when she felt someone patting her head. Jerking away, she realized that they had surrounded her.

"In that get-up?" one of them asked. "She's leaving too much to the imagination." The young man in question tugged on her jacket. "You got to give a guy an idea of what they're buying."

"Nah, nah," the second one said. "I like a little mystery. Gets the blood pumping. Makes me wonder just how much she's like her mother."

"Leave me alone," Bella spit, and instantly regretted her words, hearing how weak she sounded.

"Think you're too good for us?" the first one asked. "With a mother like yours?"

"Maybe she just wants more money," the third one speculated, as Bella tried to come to grips with what was happening. _There was no way that this was really happening._ She thought about swinging the shopping bag at them—but would that really do any damage?

"How much d'you think you're worth?" the second one demanded. "Huh?"

"Let's find out," the fourth one suggested, seizing Bella's arm as the second one clamped a hand over her mouth.

Dropping her shopping bag, Bella bit down on the hand covering her mouth and started punching at the one who had a hold of her arm.

"He—" she squawked before a fist hit her stomach and all of the air left her lungs. Flailing, Bella dragged her nails across someone's face and heard a yelp.

"Bitch!" one of the youths cursed as they forced her into an alley, away from the street.

 _Fuck that._ Bella began kicking and fighting for all she was worth. There was no fucking way that this was going to happen to her.

But it was no good. There were too many of them and they were just so much stronger than her.

"What's going on?" a voice asked.

Bella looked up, ready to beg whoever had arrived for help, only to freeze, because why, oh why, did it have to Edward fucking Cullen?

He was standing at the end of the alley, watching.

"Hey man, we thought we'd lost you," the one undoing his belt said, pausing.

"I got held up," Edward said.

"Well look at what we found."

The one holding Bella's right arm snorted. "We're finally going to find out if the daughter's as good as the mother."

Edward didn't say anything.

"You want first crack?" the second one offered, like he was making a great magnanimous gesture.

"My condoms are in the car," Edward replied.

The rest of them looked at each other. "You got any condoms?" one of them asked.

They all shook their heads.

"Well, shit. I ain't touching that diseased cooch without a rubber," the one undoing his belt said.

"I'll go get them," Edward told them. "Be right back."

"Fucking hurry."

And Edward left.

At which point something in Bella broke.

She had held her tongue when Edward appeared. She despised him. And, after what had happened with Renee, she was filled with shame whenever she thought of him.

But she couldn't believe that Edward was capable of leaving her in this alley to his friends. _And he certainly wasn't going to come back here to—_

"While we're waiting, you can show me if you've got your mother's mouth," the second one said, finishing with his belt and starting on the zipper. "Put her on her knees."

"No!" Bella began struggling again, and cried out as her hair was pulled at the same time that a foot hit the back of her left knee, forcing her down.

 _Edward!_ Bella silently screamed.

She told herself that he was just confused by what he'd seen. He must have thought that she was there willingly. He couldn't possibly—

 _He would stop them when he got back. He would stop them—_

"Freeze!" a voice yelled.

The hands holding Bella suddenly let her go, and she collapsed on the dirty pavement, sobbing and panting and gagging, so very thankful that the police had showed up before that sick fuck managed to get his dick anywhere near her mouth.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

Fucked up though it may sound, Bella thought about not pressing charges. Things were already bad enough for her in Forks. The town wouldn't take kindly to her accusing four of their golden boys of attempted rape.

In the end, she went through with the charges, but only because she couldn't bear the idea of them doing the same thing to someone else.

She didn't say anything about Edward, though. She justified her decision by telling herself that he thought she was in that alley willingly. He had clearly been drunk. And he was just confused. The truth was, Bella couldn't bear to bring the Cullens into it. She owed them too much.

Needless to say, life in Forks didn't improve for Bella after that. As far as Forks was concerned, the youths in question had been led astray by her mother. So if they did anything wrong, it was Renee's fault.

The nastier folk wondered what Bella was doing walking around Port Angeles in the middle of the night. Some of the more foul-minded went so far as to speculate that she was in fact following in her mother's footsteps, and that she only accused the boys of attempted rape to get out of a prostitution charge.

If school had been hell for Bella before this, it was now torture.

Surprisingly, Bella's house was only vandalized a few more times, and the vandals stuck to eggs and toilet paper, avoiding paint.

Esme renewed her efforts to check on Bella, knocking on the girl's door at least once a week. But Bella always pretended that she wasn't at home. Unable to get a hold of Bella herself, Esme was forced to rely on status updates from Alice. And unfortunately, Esme never realized that Alice was lying to her. Esme even took Alice's good mood as a sign that things were improving for Bella, never once realizing that Alice's mood had improved because Alice had left Bella behind, joining the "cool kids" with one hastily scribbled word across Bella's locker at school.

To the best of Bella's knowledge, her father never found out what happened with her mother. And a botched operation ensured that he was fairly incoherent when the gossip surrounding the incident at Port Angeles was at its peak. Their house was sold when Bella left for college and neither Bella nor her father ever returned to Forks.

CI – CI – CI – CI – CI - CI

It had been almost a decade since Bella was attacked in Port Angeles. She didn't like to dwell on the incident. She did her best to shove it all down into a tiny little box. The same box where she stuck all of her memories about the men Renee was always bringing around when Bella was a kid.

Psychiatrists make such a big deal out of repression, like it's such a bad thing, when really, it just provides an evolutionary advantage. If people could remember all of the bad things that happen to them, they'd never do anything. Psychiatrists only make a big deal out of it because they make money off of people thinking that you have to face your past in order to move forward.

But how could Bella possibly function if she went around all of the time dwelling on that past? Especially in light of the fact that her field of study—ancient Mediterranean history—is dominated by men. Most scholars in the field, including most of her professors and most of her students, were men. How could Bella function in such an environment if she went around cherishing the memory of those hands on her body and the things those boys had said to her?

And rape was by no means an uncommon topic in ancient Mediterranean history. It drove all of the mythology.

To an outside observer, it was obvious that the ancient Mediterranean obsession with rape was one of the reasons Bella chose that field of study. She would have denied it—she probably didn't even realize it—but it had a good deal to do with her fascination with the period.

She could talk about rape when it was happening to someone else. When it was just a story in a book.

But when it came to her—that subject was strictly off limits. As far as she was concerned, it had never happened.

So what the fuck did Edward think that he was doing, bringing it up like this?

"I was down from Seattle to see my family, but I had to pick up a birthday present for Carlisle. I ran into them in the music store." He snorted. "Fucking _losers_. We weren't even friends. I fucking hated them. They were Tyler's friends, not mine. But—" Edward shook his head. "I was so fucked up then. I just—I didn't know what I was doing. They talked me into going to a bar. We had fake IDs." He shook his head again. "And of course the assholes stiffed me with the bill." Edward glanced at Bella. "When I found them in that alley, I knew what they were doing."

Bella didn't want to hear this. She couldn't bear to hear how it had looked through his eyes. How she had looked, pinned against that wall.

She wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, to tell him that it didn't matter, that it was the past.

But she knew that if she opened her mouth that she would be sobbing. And she couldn't—she just couldn't.

She dug her fingers into her seat and held her tongue.

"I was afraid that they wouldn't listen to me if I tried to stop them. They were assholes. And I was afraid that I was too drunk to take them on if they wanted to fight." He cleared his throat. "I should have done something more. But I was wasted—and I—you know, I told them that I was going back for condoms."

Bella was going to scream. If he didn't shut up, she was going to—

"I was going to call 911 but I couldn't find my cell. I was still looking for it when I saw a cop and told him that some guys had a girl in an alley."

And the world stopped.

"I didn't stick around," Edward said, his voice shaking. "The cops told me to stay put but I ran. Like a fucking coward."

 _No, no, no, no—_ that wasn't what happened.

If that was what had happened—

"I found my phone and I called Carlisle to come and get me because I was too wasted to drive. I didn't tell him about—about you. I didn't tell anyone." Edward ran his hands through his hair. "I stopped drinking after that. I've never gotten hammered like that since that night. I was so ashamed. As it was, I could hardly bear to look in my parents' faces after—" Edward broke off. "After your mother," he whispered hoarsely.

 _FUCK NO! PLEASE GOD NO!_ She couldn't hear this. She couldn't bear to hear him talk about this too.

"Bella, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for what happened with your mother."

 **AN:**

 **Sorry for the delay. New job, technology failures, bratty students, last minute grading, snow storm, stranded in middle of nowhere, screaming match with psycho at weekly protest that's normally 100% peaceful. Will reply to reviews ASAP.**

 **Seneca the Younger references in this chapter are from Letters XCI, CVII, CXXIII translated by Robin Campbell, and** _ **Consolation to Helvia**_ **and** _ **On Tranquility of Mind**_ **translated by C. D. N. Costa**

 **It's my understanding that the authorities wouldn't have required the involvement of a legal guardian in the prosecution of Bella's assailants since she was eighteen, even though she was still in high school. If I am wrong about the Port Angeles PD insisting on the involvement of a guardian in Bella's case, then just pretend that she ended up calling one of the deputies to come and pick her up from the hospital, and that some handshake deals ensured that the issue didn't come up again during the resolution of her case (presumably the youths all made deals rather than go to trial). The deputies would have been assuming that they were doing Bella a favor/trying to avoid further trouble in Forks. As for Esme not freaking out more seriously at this point, assume that she almost called the authorities to report Bella for living on her own, but she was worried about what would happen to the girl if she had to go into the system. I hope that ties up any loose ends created by my desire to completely isolate Bella and remove Charlie from the story, at the same time refusing to do any research into the subject.**


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